Apocalypse Nowish
by Savage Reprise2
Summary: The members of the A team are thrown into a desperate struggle for life as their world is turned upside down and they are drawn into the final apocalypse. Please RR! If it looks too big then please feel free to read it one chapter at a time.
1. Prolouge

DISCLAIMER:I do not own the rights to any of the characters from Angel I am simply borrowing them for non-profitable reasons. Any charcters that aren't in Angel that appear in my story are mine.

If you know exactly what happened at the end of the third series skip to chapter 1. Every review appreciated. 

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 1

PROLOUGE

Everything they had shared, every day Angel thought he was getting closer to his son; it all meant nothing. His son had hated him the whole time. It had been nothing but an act of revenge. All that bonding he and Conner had shared it was all worthless. Angel had no idea how Conner had deemed him the murderer of Holtz but the fact was Conner was out for his blood. Conner had spent all that time playing happy family to just turn around and spit it all in his face, an extra touch he supposed. To make him suffer evermore as he drifts towards the sea floor. Well it sure had worked. Angel felt his heart being clutched harder and harder with every second although Conner had not yet sentenced him to his eternal punishment. There was still hope.

Conner really had planned it out well, Angel had to give him points for such a cruelly conceived plan of revenge. It was truly torturous. As fear crept up on Angel. He was slowly brought back into the sharp gritty world of reality. He looked up to see a huge metal lid placed on open top of the crate. Angel didn't bother to try and move as he was tightly bound by the steel ropes around his chest and knees. There was a small netted window just were Angels face was but apart from that he was now surrounded by centimetre thick walls of steel. Words were Angel's only asset now, that was for certain.

Angel looked up at Conner desperately trying to scoop, up the right words.

"Don't do this Conner, one day you'll learn the truth and then you'll hate yourself for this." Angel stated applying the calmest face he could manage and looked Conner in the eyes through the netting. Angel tried to transmit as sincerer image as possible. "Conner, listen to me, I didn't kill Holtz. I understand your anger but please try to learn the truth"

"Shut up!" Conner spat." Your lying:"

Angel knew now that he had no hope of convincing his son. Conner was blinded by the thirst for revenge he wasn't in the mood for listening. Conner helped Justine weld on the lid, thereby sealing him to his fate.

"Conner just remember that I'm your father and I'll always love you"

The welding stopped abruptly and angel felt himself being rolled towards the edge of the boat. He took his last glimpse of the vast night sky as his container began to tip over the edge.

"I love you Conner" Angel said as quickly as he could before his crate plunged into the ocean. His container filled with water rapidly and he looked up towards the boat, desperate to get one last look at his son. The rush of water was over the last bubbles of air escaped to the surface and he was totally submerged. He looked out into the endless mass of featureless water that stretched out before him as he sunk slowly and placidly toward the bottom of the ocean. Every kind of emotion you could possibly conceive rushed into his mind just as the water into the crate. Anger at his son, anger at himself, sorrow for his son, sorrow for himself, regret and despair. These things grew until they clogged his mind. At least he would have a long time to think about it all.

____________________________________________________________

Cordelia's feet rose from the ground as she began rise slowly and placidly towards the clouds. Her long white dress shone brilliantly against the dark night sky. Beautiful light radiated from her and spiralled around her. She looked down below as she drifted upward catching a wave from Skip. She smiled, near laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole scene. Cordelia Chase, higher being. She was still struggling to contemplate having her name and that term together but she took every second of her transition into the higher plain to be proud. 

Everything began to get smaller. She knew she should be panicking, after all she had no idea about higher plains or anything what would this strange, new place be like? What she really worried about was wether she would ever get to see Angel and the others again. She was so angry about it happening now, now of all times was the worst. She was on her way to tell Angel how she really felt about him; the single thing that had haunted both her and Angel for months of denial would not be resolved. She wanted to tell Angel so badly. Yet with all these things she felt greatly at ease, like everything would be taken care of, like she need not worry, like a a soft, warming drug. She entered the light and then, all of a sudden everything made sence. It all connected for her. She was a higher being.

______________________________________________________

Conner stood on the very edge of the boat; he stared at the last few bubbles of air on the surface of the water. The spot where he had just dumped his father was slowly retreating from his vision as the boat churned towards the shore. A gentle, chilling breeze swept across his face and his hair blew wildly. The sea air was freezing but Conner felt none of the cold, his entire body tingled with pleasure. Pleasure that Angelus, the monster of the night, the murderer of his father was put to eternal torture. A sentence far lesser than the beast deserved. Conner had put his trust in that monster, he had began to believed that Angelus truly was different, of good nature, but none of it was true. Angelus and all of his kind are and always will be hunters of the night; they will always be evil.

Yet even now Angelus' words haunted him. He pushed everything out of his mind and remembered what Angelus had done to Holtz. Conner swore then that he would avenge Holtz by the torture of Angelus and the slaughter of the whole of his kind. He turned away from the water and smiled, justice will be done.

____________________________________________________________

Fred waited patiently in the lobby for Gunn to fetch Conner. She made her way over to the grey couch in the centre of the lobby. She sat down and looked at the stained floor; the pentagram was still clearly visible. The couch had been placed over it in a lazy attempt to hide it. She was aching to get out of the hotel and shove some tacos in her mouth, literally; her stomach felt like it was collapsing without some food in there. Tacos were her favourite food and she was desperate just to smell some. Come to think of it she actually hadn't had any Tacos since Conner was taken to Quartarth.

Suddenly a strange and unwelcomed sensation came to her. She suddenly felt that something was missing. She felt a great emptiness overcome her as though the hotel was lonely somehow. She jumped down of the couch and her shoes landing on the hard marble floor made a sharp clapping noise. The empty feeling began all over again when the echo filled the air, proving just how silent the hotel was. She heard just how silent everything was. Something was wrong, she could tell that much. She began clicking her fingers and listening attentively to the sharp echo it made.

Gunn walked quickly down the stairs with his hand on the rail. His shoes against the carpet produced little to no noise as he approached Fred. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked at Fred who was staring at the roof clicking her fingers. Gunn stood there watching her taking in every move she made, every sound she created and every look that

came across her face. Gunn felt rush of admiration and adoration for the sweet young lady that stood before him. God he loved her. He smiled at her; she could be so funny sometimes.

"Fred"

Fred jumped with the shock of the sudden noise. After getting all wound up about the silence she had forgotten Gunn was in the hotel. She was off in her own little world again. That happened to her a little too often for Fred taste. From the large grin Gunn had spread across his face she knew that he had been watching her, he thought everything like that was funny. 

Fred almost blushed when she thought about what she was doing must have looked like to gun.

" Umm....rrr..I was just...umm."

She stopped herself sternly for talking so stupidly and quickly changed the topic, focusing on trying to talk clearly and with complete sentences.

"Is Conner ready to get going?"

Gunn's grin faded slightly.

"Nah. I couldn't find him anywhere," He said doubtfully, trying not to sound too concerned.

Although he could not think of where Conner would be and why he would be gone he made himself think optimistically. God knows what could have happened.

"Were do you think he's gone" Fred replied, looking very concerned.

" I wouldn't have a clue, I don't see why he would have left"

"We should tell Angel or Cordelia right away"

"I already phoned twice and neither of them are picking up" Stated Gunn casually.

Gunn tried as hard as he could to think of a rational explanation, a hoping that there was one.

"I don't like the sound of that"

Fred started to worry and all sorts of scenarios popped into her head, half of them impossible but then, anything can happen.

" Where is everybody?" Fred asked her out loud.

She guided her eyes around the empty hotel, on the verge of panic. 'At least Gunn was still around,' she thought as she locked eyes on his comforting face.


	2. Lonely Hearts

O.k here's the first real chapter. Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Please R/R. Every review appreciated and it will help me to write more faster.

Thankyou

Chapter 2-Lonely Hearts

Fred lay on her bed with her back to the floor and her eyes to the ceiling. She stared at the ceiling intensely: without blinking, without moving; all her energy was gathered in her head, working overtime to try and organize her millions of loose thoughts. 

It had been two days and three nights since the great disappearance had occurred and she and Gunn were still desperately trying to hunt them down. She had tried to find where and why they were gone but couldn't ascertain anything from her books, which at least moderately proved that them disappearing was some of some unfulfilled, apocalyptic prophecy (That was never a good thing) Gunn had had no greater success with his 'sources'. They had tried every trick of the book and the street to recover the missing person's whereabouts and today was like waking up to another repetitive day of unfulfillment. To Fred today was the day when all hope seemed lost and it was time to accept that Angel, Cordy and Conner could not be found. It was how almost every search in mankind's history ended.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sudden interruption of he streaming thoughts jarred her awake.

"Come in," She said, knowing that it was Gunn and knowing that he had breakfast on a silver tray. Gunn could often be quite repetitive but she liked the heart warming and comfortable feeling that that gave their relationship.

Gunn opened the door and walked in with a silver tray and smiled as Fred sat up in her bed. He walked over to the bed and put it down on her lap, grateful for the warm smile Fred had across her face.

"Waffles." He announced.

"Mmmmy favourite" She replied, already knowing that they were waffles from the appetising odour that had entered the room with Gunn.

Gunn helped himself to a waffle and then a seat in the near corner of the room, facing Fred. He watched as Fred franticly scoffed down her waffles. 'It was as though she hadn't eaten for weeks' he thought.

"Nice?"

"Mmm..yeah thanks. It's the best breakfast I could hope for."

"How's that?"

"Well, waffles for a start but I also get you" She answered, smiling as romantically as she could. She had cultivated just the right techniques to please Gunn. 

Gunn smiled but kept on his cool face.

"Not romanticising on the job are you Fred"

She knew Gunn was being sarcastic but it had slapped everything she had been thinking about minutes ago right back in her mind. She cut out of the conversation they had just been on and changed the tone and mood abruptly.

"What are we going to do today?" She asked in a low, concerned tone.

He paused shortly before answering, "look, FredI'm not really sure there's anything else we can do. We've hit the books, we've hit the streets, and we've looked into every angle possible and got nothing. You tell me, what else can we do?"

Fred took no time to reply, getting quite frustrated with Gunn.

"What, you think we should give up?" She snapped.

Gunn looked a bit shocked for a moment before continuing.

"I'm just saying sooner or later we're gonna have to face facts," he continued trying to avoid Fred's angry glare, " we don't even no if their alive let alone where they are. "He finished on a light, strained tone that seemed to tell Fred that he did care.

"Sorry for snapping at you." Fred apologised sincerely, looking down at the floor. She shifted her post-devoured waffles beside her and looked at Gunn.

"It's just that I don't want to give up yet. I mean it's only been two days. Surely something as useless as going over what we've found a thousand times would be better than just sitting around waiting for something."

Gunn focused his eyes onto the floor, in deep thought. He knew she was right, they had to keep trying. Fred jumped out of bed; "I'm going to call Lorne again." Gunn nodded as she walked past him and out the door. A faint "thanks for the waffles" echoed through the open door.

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Conner had ignored all of Justine's weak and feeble attempts at conversation as they walked swiftly and objectively down the dark, suburban street. Justine was leading the way to the house that Holtz had purchased for training his men. Conner had no interest in conversation at the moment; he had far too much on his mind. Well not just at that moment, Conner had been in deep thought 24 hours a day since they dumped Angel. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the wet pavement, the noise ever magnified by the awkward silence of the night. A pebble could have been dropped at the other end of the street and Conner would have heard it, even minus the enhanced hearing he possessed.

Conner's thoughts were suddenly shattered by an ear-splitting scream of fear. The silent air erupted with the piercing sound. Conner stopped walking abruptly as the sound reached his ears. He tried to pinpoint were the sound had originated and when that failed he followed his innate sense of death. He swore he could _smell _a vampire from a hundred meters. He set off on a sudden, swift sprint. It took Justine a while to process what was happening but when she did she began to race after him.

Conner reached the end of the street then swerved instantaneously to the right, following the footpath around the block. Justine followed a few seconds behind. There were a few more screams coming from one of the few houses with lights on across the road. Conner cut off the pathway and ran on a diagonal course across the road, and towards the house. The moonlight shined brightly off the flat surface of the damp road, lighting the street up quite well.

Conner reached the property and cut across the lawn to the house's front steps, still at the same swift pace. Conner didn't even stop as he reached the door; he kicked up his foot and kicked down the door with the ease of a wrecking ball.

Justine reached the wet, glistening lawn as Conner burst into the house.

She watched him disappear into the doorway as she approached the stairs. She smiled this is what she wanted, the only thing she had left, the fight. She knew that she and Conner both strove for one single thing, the kicking of ass. It was the only thing they had in common but it kept them together. They had been hunting vampires since last night, and that's what they had been returning from. She sprinted in through the doorway headfirst, ready to fight.

Conner had rushed into the house exactly what he hoped not to find. A wide patch of thick, red blood tarnished the sandstone carpet; a young lady's corpse rested limply on a chair, blood still running down her neck. The beasts looked up from their second meal, a young child; the slurping noise they had made while feasting continued to echo in Conners brain. The tallest one let go of the child and the poor kid dropped to the floor, limp and lifeless. There were two vampires smiling wickedly at Conner. One was dark haired and wore a messy, blood stained, blue shirt and an undone tie sat loosely under his collar.

He was the taller one, the other wore a business suit that still looked neat and well ironed; that suggested that he had been created new, maybe. The both of them had blood all over their teeth and it was literally dripping off their chins.

A huge hate built up inside Conner, greater than the greatest of hate.

Although he had seen his fair share of blood and death he now knew what it meant to have family and what it meant to loose it and that changed everything. This sudden stare down occurred over a time frame of about 4 seconds. 

Conner was the first to act. He charged towards the shorter of the two using as much of the strength from his shoulder as he could to pull back for a punch as he charged. The Vampire didn't seem to know what to do, inexperienced; that's one advantage. The taller vampire jumped back against the left wall, no cooperation; that's advantage 2. The shorter vampire swung a punch at Conner but he avoided it by flicking his head to the side. This caused him to loose all the momentum he had gathered for the punch so he tried something unexpected and kicked the vampire hard in the shins with the point of his hard boots. The vampire leaned down to the side bringing his head level with Conners left shoulder. Meanwhile Conner had pulled back his arm for a strong punch. He punched downwards into the side of the vampires head and the vampire hobbled forward, struggling to keep his balance. The words "It's all about balance" flashed through Conners racing mind as he stepped backward behind the vampire and kicked him sharply in the back of the knee. The vampire fell forwards and landed on his hands and knees. Conner heard a soft, cunning step to his right and ducked millimetres below the punch the tall vampire unleashed. Conner stood up again instantly and jabbed out his elbow sharply to the right. He felt his bone make direct contact with the top of the vampires nose. 

"Arghh" The vampire exclaimed sharply as he retreated backwards and fell back against the wall.

It was then that Justine appeared in the doorway. She immediately assessed the situation and responded quickly when Conner gestured with his hand for a stake. She pulled a stake out of her pocket and through it to Conners outstretched hand. It flew over the shorter vampire on all fours just a fraction of a second before he jumped to his feet. Conner caught it and without a moment of hesitation threw it straight back were it came from; only now the short vampire was on his feet and the stake stabbed straight into his heart. Panic rushed straight into the vampires pupils, Conner could see them widen with horror. The vampire quickly looked down at the stake in his chest then up at Conner.

"Shi" The vampire turned to dust without his final word. Ha. Conner really felt like laughing.

Conner's heart began to pump faster as the adrenalin kicked in. Unfortunately he was a little too preoccupied with the other vampire.

The taller vampire landed a powerful punch on Conners right chin.

Conner began to fall backwards but put one of his feet down behind him and jumped around again struggling to get back up. Just as he regained balance Justine kicked the vampire in the side of his stomach with all the strength she had. He was knocked off his feet and crashed through the big glass windows to his left. Justine fell over forwards after her momentum had crashed to a sudden, jarring halt.

Conner heard the thud of sprinting foot steps on concrete from outside the window. Conner jumped into action and Justine had already sprinted back out the front door. Conner picked up the stake from amongst the dust of the felled vampire, stepped over the growing stains of blood on the carpet and avoiding the dead boy, and jumped out the broken window. Fortunately he didn't have to try hard to avoid the remaining glass, the window was pretty high and the vampire had taken out most of the glass. _Unfortunately _he touched down on his hands, a sharp, piercing pain sprang through his arm but he did his best to ignore it and barrel rolled to his feet.

He was now at the side of the house, it was about three meters wide between the wall and the side fence and the whole area was concreted.   
Conner jumped into and effective sprinting position and sprinted. He followed the straight concrete path to the street and chased after the faint glimpse he saw of Justine turned the corner to the next street. 

Now that he had little thinking to do he risked a quick peek at his piercing hands. Thick streams of blood ran down his wrist as he did so. His right hand was practically red with blood, if he put his hand against a white wall there would be an almost perfect imprint. His left hand was less cut than his practically shredded right hand; it had only a few small cuts. Blood was still streaming out of the deep glass cuts on his right hand as he picked out some of the embedded glass and dropped it onto the road. He screwed up his face and bit his lip with the excruciating pain. Still he had suffered worse, he just felt fortunate that he hadn't pierced the artery on his wrist.

As he rounded the corner he heard distant and fast approaching sirens.

His last experience with the police hadn't been too agreeable but he had learnt all about them now. Apparently they helped people; at least that's what Angel had said. No. It's Angelus, Conner hated when he accidentally called him that. 

Conner's legs began to tire but the distraction of his hand kept exhaustion at bay for a little longer. He continued to sprint though that's one thing that Conner refused to do is to slow to a feeble run or jog, he either sprinted or he stood. He fast approached Justine who had stopped running of exhaustion. He suddenly remembered the sirens that had been so vivid in his thoughts before hand. The noise was now right upon them. Without warning two police cars screeched around the corner of a street to the right of Conner. Just before Conner passed Justine he realised the police were going to act upon them, he supposed he and Justine looked very suspicious.

"Take care of them." He said between light panting. Justine nodded and ran onto the road to get their attention.

With Justine out of his way he could see the vampire turn the next corner. Conner realised that it would be foolish to try and run down the vampire with a test of stamina as he had planned. Vampires need not breathe so there was no cause for exhaustion. Conner could only hope to catch the vampire with speed. He tried to block the gripping pain from his hand as he pumped up his legs with as much rapidity and force as he could muster. He skidded on the wet pavement as he tried a 90-degree turn down to the next street. Something suddenly stopped him. He stood on the corner of the street looking down the long, straight road before him. There was no sign of the vampire.

Conner put his mind to the test trying to think what to do; he figured that the vampire has simply entered someone's property and was currently fence hopping. He heard a gunshot from behind him in the other street.

He hoped Justine was ok but kept it out of his mind.

He sprinted up the road trying to think which garden the vampire would have entered. Suddenly something snagged his vision from the corner of his eye as he ran, a patch of blood on one of the lawns. The blood was black and greatly contrasted to the moist, glistening lawn.

"Yes." He said quietly to himself and began to follow the trail, this was excellent news, not only did he find where the vampire was he knew the vampire had been injured. He stopped himself when he realised he had jumped the gun. The vampire could have easily just cut himself to put Conner on the trail. He paused for a few moments reasoning with himself. 

"Screw it," he said, wanting to find something he could sink his teeth into and beat the living shit out of. The pain he felt in his hand was a good motivator to do some serious damage to anything that moves.

He twisted into the garden, sprinting as fast as ever down the side of the house. He didn't slow as he neared the fence; instead he launched himself about 10cm into the air about 2 meters from the fence. With the speed he had gathered he glided just above the ground until his slightly forwarded right foot came in contact with the first horizontal beam on the fence. He pushed off with the right foot and grabbed the top of the fence with his left hand to pull himself up. He made sure it was all in one fluid, curved motion so as not to lose thrust in his wake. His momentum carried him up to the top of fence and he swung his legs over the top and pushed off with his left hand. He landed on his feet and took no delay in resuming his sprint. 

Things were a lot harder for Conner because he didn't use his right hand, he also knew that he would have to use it soon and he wasn't looking forward to that. He had kept his right hand in the same open-palmed position since he had looked at, every slight movement of a finger sent a sharp, throbbing sensation through his arm. It's not that his left hand didn't pain him, it did, it's just that it was so dwarfed by the pain from his other hand it was barely acknowledgeable.

About halfway to the next fence he spotted a body scramble over the fence after the next. Conner could tell from the faint glimpse he got that he had seen his target clamber over the fence in an awkward, struggling manner. Before long he had jumped the next fence and was clearing the ground rapidly between him and the now clearly visible vampire ahead.

He stepped swiftly and lightly on the soft grass as he raised his stake in his left hand. The vampire heard him from about 3 metres and did a last ditch dive to the side seconds before Conner brought down the stake. Conner struck thin air as the vampire crashed into the near wall of the house from his dive. He made quite a thud against the rickity weatherboard house. Conner turned, stepped forward and launched a high kick at the vampires head. The heel of Conners boot came into contact with the imbalanced vampires chin. The vampire was blown back powerfully into the wall, sending splinters and dust into the air as he crashed through the wooden wall. The vampire landed on his back but quickly jumped to his feet before Conner could take advantage of that. 

Conner stepped through the hole in the wall and stepped towards the vampire taking a second to realise that they were in a rather large kitchen. It only took that one second for the vampire to regain his sences and throw a deadly jab at Conners face. Conner used his right wrist to block the punch instinctively but instantly regretted it as the vibrations stung his hand viciously. Conner bit his lip as hard as he could without drawing blood so as not to alert his oponnent of his deadly weakness. The vampire smiled cunningly at him. 'Shit' Conner said to himself, the vampire knew.

He and the vampire both turned as a sudden stream of light burst into the room. A middle aged man stood in the open doorway shocked at what he saw. His eyes widened with shock. He had probably figured something strange had happened in the kitchen, like a microwave blew up or something what he found was a huge whole in the wall and two strange men in his kitchen.

The light revealed a rack of knives to the corner of Conner's vision.

The vampire made a quick dash for the man, trying to take advantage of him. If he got the man he would no doubt threaten to snap his neck for a cheap escape. Conner grabbed the back of his lose shirt and pulled him backwards forcefully. The vampire almost fell over backwards to the side of Conner but he smacked the vampire in the chin and he he was knocked onto the the shiny silver bench in the center of the room. The vampire slid over the slick benched top and tumbled off the other end, landing on the floor in the corner of the room.

"Get out" Conner said sharply to the man, staring him straight in the eyes.

A breif but fierce growling noise came from the the corner of the room. Conner turned to see the vampire stand up and brush some wooddust from his shirt, his face in full vamp mode. The man was taken aback by the morphed appearance of the vampire. Corner turned back towards the man, "get out!" He yelled at the very top of his voice. Corner was relieved when the man finally sprang into action, he retreated back through the door and Conner heard the reassuring sound of a terrified sprint down the hall.

Conner turned back towards the vampire in just enough time to glimpse the silver frying pan's flat bottom before it slammed straight into his face. Conner grabbed his nose and stumbled back into the steel work bench. He smelt a vivid odour of blood creep up into his nose and felt trickles of it crawling down his nose. His head now began to ache all over and he even got a break from feeling the pain in his hands. Conner awoke from his thoughts suddenly and with just the fleetness required to counter the oncoming attack. He chopped the vampires wrist with the side of his right palm . The impact was swift and great. A jolt of pain sung through Conner's right arm but the vampire released his grip on the frying pan and his arm swung to the right with mighty force. The clatter of the frying pan on the floor rung through Conner's ears as he swiftly reached behind his back and tightened his grip on the handle of what he knew to be a large cutting knife. His whole body shiverd with the pain of his gripped right hand but he took no halt in reaching back infront of him and slicing forwards with the knife blade. The vampire had just flicked back into a standing position when the knife cut straight across his cheek. Although the knife past through him for but a minute moment the blade was harsh and the bearer masterful; it had left a deep gash across his cheek and blood was already gushing out.

The vampire was stunned at the unexpected offensive and Conner used that one second to swing back his stake-bearing arm behind him and bring it up swiftly into the vampire's heart. The vampire looked at him in pure shock and then burst into a cloud of dust.

Conner starred at the floor were the vampire had just been standing and smiled. He turned and walked out of the door in an almost trance-like manner, dropping both the blood stained knife and the stake to either side of him. He kept walking, and smiling. His pain seemed to have been subdued as he built up to a sprint and headed home.

Did he feel happy for the the taste of revenge or was it the taste of blood he was after now? he mused as he licked the top of his lips the taste of the blood from his nose potent within his mouth. The only thing he was certain about was that he hadn't helped anyone that night and in his heart he knew he had never intended to.

VERSION 1: 3975 words


	3. Sunrise

OK this is chapter 3. This moves along at a slightly faster pace but for the start of the story I want to delve into the characters thoughts a bit. Many thanx' to those who fed back and I would love some more reviews. I like suggestions and if I got a word mixed up or I'm doing something drasticly wrong with my grammer do tell.  
  
So enjoy and please review!  
  
CHAPTER 3-Sunrise  
  
That same night.  
  
Lilah rested her head on the back of her black leather office chair, casually staring at the roof and tapping a pen methodically on the edge of her desk. Her LCD screen radiated a sharp white glow to the softly lit office. This was Lilah's common routine during office hours, hear no evil, and speak no evil. For her that meant doing nothing. She noticed subconsciously for the umpteenth time the light greyish colour of her office roof. Her deep slumber of thoughtless time wasting was suddenly interrupted by two, soft yet piercing knocks at the door. Lilah sat up in her chair and flicked the pen on to her desk. She swung her chair around to face the door.  
  
"Come in Gavin," she said tiresomely. He was the only employee at Wolfram and Hart she knew to knock. After you worked there long enough you began to contemplate how many minutes a year you wasted knocking. Wolfram and Hart has people on their toes constantly, you had to be efficient to survive.  
  
Gavin opened the door and entered the office the very split-second Lilah's words escaped her lips. He walked in swiftly; he always did, as though he had some kind of pending agenda that motivated him.  
  
He stopped and stood in the middle of the room, facing Lilah.  
  
"Lilah, something has to be done." He said abruptly.  
  
Lilah leaned back into her relaxed position.  
  
"About what?" She said with a sly grin. She knew exactly where he was going with this but she enjoyed playing with him to no end.  
  
"Don't play with me Lilah."  
  
Lilah's grin widened with wicked pleasure.  
  
".You know exactly what I mean"  
  
She opened her mouth but had no time to speak before he resumed.  
  
"We have been sitting on our asses for the last three days doing nothing, achieving nothing." He continued with a slightly raised tone. "We have to find them."  
  
He paused.  
  
"We have to do something!" He finished, on a slightly panicked note.  
  
He stared at her waiting for a reply. When the seconds passed and none came he slammed both hands down on Lilah's desk, glaring at her. Lilah swung her chair around and stared him right back with a cool grin. After a brief second Lilah spoke, "While you've been sitting on that tender ass of yours I've been working my head off trying to find a solution."  
  
Something about her tone made Gavin doubtful, something cold. His face showed her that he wanted to know more so she continued.  
  
"I have a failsafe plan to lie back on, Gavin and I pity you for being the moron you are."  
  
Gavin took his hands off her desk and stood up, looking down at her with a shocked look on his face.  
  
"What are you playing at Lilah?" He said nervously, trying to keep a straight face.  
  
" I can safely say that as soon as Lynwood returns from his vacation it will be you who will take the blame for the recent inopportune events."  
  
Gavin stepped backwards a look of horror present on his face.  
  
"But.how?" Gavin replied with a terrified stammer present in his voice.  
  
"That's right." Lilah continued menacingly," The weight's on you Gavin and you're gonna carry it for the rest of your pathetic existence, however short that may be." Her voice was one of pure, wicked joy as she saw Gavin staring down at her, horrified out of his skin. 'It's amazing how much terror a law firm can imbue upon people' she mused.  
  
She leaned forwards and gazed wickedly into Gavin's tortured eyes. A few seconds passed as Gavin struggled to contemplate what was happening and what would become of him. "Bye," she said in a sweet mock voice, smiling and doing a cute little waving motion with her hands. Gavin breathed in deeply and gathered the mental energy to reply.  
  
"You're wrong Lilah." He said knowingly, his voice still shaken slightly. He managed a weak smile that was supposed to be cunning and left the office in the same manner he had entered, slamming the door behind him.  
  
But a few seconds of silence followed before she broke out into ecstatic laugh of pleasure. Those last few minutes filled her bloodthirsty heart with enough joy to last a lifetime. Her whole body tingled with an odd kick of satisfaction. The look on Gavin's face really reminded her of what she loved most about her job. After only a few moments she grabbed her pen between two fingers and layed back into the comfort of her chair once again. Only this time she stared out her huge wall-length window, past the tall buildings that conquered the sky and into the vastness of the night. As pathetic as her brief chat with Gavin had been it had given her something to think about.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------  
  
Wesley staggered up the seemingly endless set of spiral stairs that led up to his flat. His legs ached, his jaw ached, and almost every muscle in his poor, weary body attacked him with jolts of pain with every slight movement. He conquered the journey step by step, breathing deeply.  
  
The crude graffiti that suffocated almost every inch of the lower most corridors splashed more water onto the fire inside him, the fire that burned so fiercely by the night and smouldered to a weak glimpse of warmth every day. It was like clockwork, everyday for Wesley had been the same since he had departed from the hospital. Everything he did now was different; it's amazing how horror, guilt, anger and remorse can change a person. He had been thrown into a relentless hunt for revenge that repeated day by day, night by night. No, not so much revenge, it was more of a constant sinking sensation that had to be relieved. Killing was the way for him to block out all his thoughts, filling his heart with false happiness that he was helping, doing good. He was addicted like to an all-consuming drug that blinded his growing pain.  
  
His slow, heavy footsteps echoed endlessly down the empty, depressing corridors. The whole place was dark as there were no windows in any of the corridors and the whole place radiated a feeling of loneliness, a fitting place for a man of such self-loathing. His mind was thoughtless as he approached his corridor. He carried a huge axe with him and it felt like it weighed a tonne. He had no doubt he would look suspicious to anyone who should happen to pass by, at least he had made a temporary excuse to his fellow tenants and the owners. They were all under the belief that he collected antiques, he had been pleasantly surprised that the alibi had worked like a dream although he suspected it was probably because his neighbours were all a bunch of low life drunkards who wouldn't give a stuff what he did.  
  
He cut off the stairwell and headed towards the end door of the corridor. He placed his hand into the deep pocket of his long, leather jacket, pulled out the keys and opened the door. He stood in the hall for a moment, looking through his doorway and out the large, front window that took up about half of the wall space in the lounge room. His room, as with the city, glowed a warming orange from the waking sun. The city was waking and a short sharp flicker of pride sprung from the ashes that filled Wesleys heart and mind. It was a sudden flood of good memories and he was suddenly proud of everything he had done and accomplished. However it didn't take long for him to part with the feeling.  
  
He slipped out of his jacket as he passed through the door, throwing it messily onto the arm of the couch and walking through to the bathroom. The bathroom was small, with just enough space for the shower, toilet, sink and he. He flicked on the dim light and gazed at his own solemn, jaded face in the mirror, eye to eye with the mysterious man he hardly knew. His features were all rough and hard, from his poorly kept beard to his hard piercing eyes. His serious stare looked as though it could crack a rock. He avoided his eyes and carefully propped up his axe against the blue-tiled of bathroom wall. He looked back into the mirror and assessed the damage of a night's battle. There was dry blood clearly present between his nose and his top lip but his nose didn't hurt too much so it was ignorable. Apart from that his face looked pretty much fine. He unbuttoned his shirt, noticing the large rip across it's front and hung it over the top of the shower. He cringed when he saw the many shaded regions of purple and green on his chest, accompanied by a large gash that ran diagonally from his left shoulder right to the bottom of his right ribs. He counted himself fortunate that the wound had not been marginally lower, if so it would have ripped open his stomach, then he would have lost his organs to the floor and died within seconds. Dry blood plastered his entire chest in large, hardened rivers and he bit his lip when he saw how much blood he'd lost. Still, he was not mortally wounded and as the gash was fairly shallow it had not caused any internal damage. Wesley began to clench his fists with anger at himself. He was undeniably foolish to raise a single axe to 4 swords and he hated thinking now, in the day, that he was that stupid. Night was his call and he had become almost two different people because of it. He sighed deeply and released his palm ' maybe I just want to die.' He thought, though not really stating on any level of truth. He stared into the mirror once more, gazing as deep as he could into his cruel eyes, trying to assess himself.  
  
Wesley wasn't sure how many minutes had passed before he shook all the thoughts out of his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small daggers. Their bodies were curved and they told stories of death and blood with so little as an idle glance. He placed them both down beside the taps as carefully as a mother would her child then undressed and started the water for a shower. The hot tapped untouched he stood under the refreshing downpour. The cold water bringing refreshment to his exhausted body. He stared down into the drain intently, immersed in his many thoughts as his body healed its burdens.  
  
He always struggled desperately to fend off the thoughts of Angel that were constantly accumulating within his mind. He had not heard from Angel since his services were called upon to save Fred. But he had heard of Angel from a very untrustworthy source of his, Lilah. She had cracked the news to him with ecstatic joy; Cordy, Conner and Angel were gone. He thought little of it then and there but slowly, when they were not found he grieved the absence.  
  
He wished he could just forget them all and drive off to some unknown world but he knew that the horror Angel had inflicted upon him and the grief he had inflicted on Angel would keep the both of them in LA. It bound them, neither of them willing to forgive and neither of them willing to have revenge. He closed his eyes and watched the blackness, escaping into a world where only the good memories took effect. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------  
  
Fred stared at the ceiling; intrigued by a little game she had made up. Her eyes were wide with curiosity as she eagerly scanned it for systematic variations in the its tone. After about five minutes she threw in the towel and dug her face into the pillow. She felt fortunate that she was not in store for another day of frantic, useless searching. Today she had something else to think about, Lorne was coming back. She almost found herself giggling out loud with excitement. She soon realised it was a cry of relief. Although she loved Gunn she hated to work on such an urgent issue with only one person. It only takes a while for both people to start contradicting each other's every decision and falling into a negative state of mind. She was so relieved that Lorne was returning, partly because it might help having someone like Lorne looking for Angel and partly because she thought two was becoming a crowd for her.  
  
Lorne wasn't particularly smart or strong but she admired the way he helped everyone motivate themselves and she began to feel that a hotel devoid of Lorne is as lonely as an empty warehouse. That demon had soul; that was for certain. He had only to be present to lighten the mood.  
  
She held back fears of having to tell Lorne about the missing persons, though it was very hard. She was extremely nervous that Gunn would have to ruin Lorne's welcome home. All those times she had called she had never got more than two seconds with him either because he had to do something or was about to perform on stage, or both. He certainly sounded very busy over in Las Vegas. She counted herself lucky that she had Gunn to take on the tough job of telling him. That last phone call she made gave them about 5 minutes with each other and she didn't want to tell him then. Lorne told her that he was coming back tomorrow and she said they'd pick him up from the airport at 8.00 at night and after that they just talked about why he was leaving and what he had been doing.  
  
From what she caught from the fast paced phone call he'd been up to a lot. Apparently he'd hit off in Las Vegas and was a real legend. Strangely that was the reason he'd given for returning. She smiled to herself, but then Lorne never really cared for that sought of thing, for wealth and fame. From all the recent tragedy he'd endured in LA last year he probably thought he did but Fred knew he'd be happier in LA. The second destruction of his club all but stole his singing career from him and surprisingly that was probably the saddest thing she's witnessed as a member of Angel Investigations.  
  
To have him back would at least be a start.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------  
  
Gavin slid his outstretched finger down the paper he held in his other hand, his eyes glancing back and forward trying to take in all the names and phone numbers on the list as he finger passed them. His eyes suddenly locked on to one of the names and he abruptly stopped his finger there. That was the contact he was up to.  
  
He had been sitting in his office for about two hours now and it hadn't been till the second that he'd ceased staring blindly at the wall, as though he needed to put all his energy into staring so that he could see. It had taken that long for his shame and humiliation to settle and turn into a fierce, motivating anger. As he had stared at the wall fierce and ceaseless thoughts paraded within his mind. He had not lost control; he had stared at the plain, uninteresting wall, unsettled to the brink of panic. The shame of losing to his competitor, Lilah, drowned him in a deep, dark resesion. He knew she was more advanced and experienced at being the cunning employee of the month but he and her had got so competitive he felt all the more worse when he was knocked back. He also knew that he had many stones to uproot and bridges to fell before he had the ruthless approached to life Lilah had acquired. Before he had joined Wolfram and Hart he had thought he was ruthless but now he was the novice. Eventually his dark reflections burnt out and he had taken action. He now had a clear sense of mind and body and a sharp confidence that he would succeed Lilah and climb the wobbly ladder of Wolfram and Hart.  
  
He hadn't considered his sudden plan of action with much effort but it wasn't really a plan worthy of thought. He had printed off a copy of the hallowed Wolfram and Hart dept list. Surprisingly the dept list had nothing to do with money; it was a record of every person who owed Wolfram and Hart a favour. Those who are helped by Wolfram and Hart are either charged money or they are added to the dept list. Which category you fell into depended on what kind of things you could offer as a favour and how many others were on the dept list.  
  
So he picked his phone from the hook for the fortieth time and dialled the number his finger was on. He tapped his fingers impatiently as the phone rang unanswered. He was just about to hang up when a reply came.  
  
"Hello, this is Daniel, what can I do for you?" Daniel answered in an awkwardly cheerful tone.  
  
"My name is Gavin, I'm an attorney for Wolfram and Hart." Gavin replied coolly, he enjoyed ruining people's moods to no end. There was a strange silence of realisation from the other end and he didn't reply for a few seconds.  
  
"What can I do for you Gavin?" He finally replied on a slightly flatter, less cheerful tone.  
  
"Check your e-mail. Open the message entitled 'target'." Gavin waited for the man to affirm he was following.  
  
"And?"  
  
"There is a picture of a boy attached, I want you and everyone you can get to look for him OK. I want a twenty four hour man hunt until he is found and when he is call me."  
  
"Where do I look?"  
  
"Any dark, grimy alleyway should do it."  
  
"But."  
  
"JUST LOOK!" Gavin shouted, cutting off Daniel's wasteful complaint in its tracks and tossing the phone back onto its hook.  
  
Gavin looked out his wall-length window at the warm, rising sun that was warming his room in engulfing sunlight. He swung his chair around and leaned back into it, looking out at the glorious city of LA. He realised then that he would have it no other way, the city consumes you, it becomes a part of your blood and Gavin knew that he would never leave. Whatever happened he would stay to watch it through. He smiled a short, sweet smile and swung back round to his list.  
  
"Lucky 73rd" He muttered to himself as he grabbed the phone again. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------- Wesley strolled briskly out of the bathroom, dropping his tattered, bloodstained shirt into the rubbish bin in the corner of the room on his way to the kitchen. He was half-naked in his jeans, which had fortunately survived the night unscathed. He entered the small, empty kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. He looked into his fridge and grinned when he caught his target at first glance, a six-pack of beer sitting lonesomely in the middle of the middle tray; it was practically the only thing in the fridge. He reached in and pulled snapped one off shutting the fridge door as he turned back into the lounge room.  
  
His chest looked a lot better after that refreshing shower. The blood was all gone and the only inflictions to remain were his many bruises. The bruises really were worse though, as any slight movement of his chest would pain him terribly.  
  
The sun was wide-awake now and well into its glory stage of pure warmth and brightness. The light poured through his window and lit the lounge room brilliantly. He opened the can of beer at sat down on his tatty, orange couch. It was old but he had had it for years and it was a great place to fall back into, the soft, worn cushions consumed you with a sensational comfort. He lay back into it and took a sip of his beer. It tasted like cat's piss, as usual but he was used to it and you could even note he had become quite fond of it. The cheap shit he bought now was a world apart from when he had 4 or so of his favourite champagne lining the inside of the fridge door. He looked over at his TV. It was silhouetted against the bright window. Wesley took another sip of his beer and flicked it on within the couch-side remote. The box made a strange noise and then the visual slowly appeared on the screen. It was a morning news program; slightly interested, he raised the volume.  
  
He watched as the news presenter shuffled some papers and moved along to the next story.  
  
"Last night a series of atrocious crimes woke the usually peaceful neighbourhood of Burkensfield. Neighbours of a young, single mum awoke to screaming and strange noises and decided to call the police. The police who were called on the case claimed a single woman assaulted them. The police were left unconscious in the middle of Fent St. and it wasn't until much later that more police were called in; a man just around the corner of Fent St. called the police on his mobile after he awoke to find two strange men in his house. This case itself was very strange, it appeared that the intruders entered the house through the back wall"  
  
Wesley was sitting up in the couch now watching and listening as best he could, the bit about breaking through a wall had snapped his attention.  
  
Pictures of the broken wall flashed across the screen.  
  
Now he was outright intrigued.  
  
"Mr Arnold claimed that he was woken during the night to find the two intruders fighting in his kitchen. He announced this morning that one of them wore some kind of disfigured mask and that the masked man had attempted to attack him."  
  
Wesley tried to figure out what all this meant as the news reverted to the assaulted police.  
  
".Also had a strange element to it. All three police who were subdued that night claim they had only one, female attacker. Police, later that night put a picture to the policeman's descriptions. A photo was taken from a night surveillance camera from a previous week and all three police recognised her as the attacker. A light, black and white picture appeared on the screen.  
  
Wesley stared hard at it and a thousand thoughts broke into his mind.  
  
"Justine?" He asked himself out loud. It took him but a third of a second to realise that it was Justine and that for the first time in months he had been given a purpose, as small as it may be. He put his beer down onto the floor and sprinted into the bathroom. He hastily scanned the room back and fourth with his eyes, trying to remember where he had put them. He saw their dark, metallic colour against the white sink and ran over to them. He grabbed one with each hand and tucked them safely in the back of his belt. He sprinted into his room and grabbed another beige shirt from his almost depleted wardrobe. He threw the shirt into the air and slipped one arm into the sleeve then following suit with his other. He buttoned his shirt with one hand as he walked swiftly towards the door, scooping up his jacket and throwing his arms into it as he approached the door. He swung the door open and slammed it shut, reaching into his jacket pocket for the keys once again. He locked the door, dropped the keys back into his pocket and began a rapid descent down the stairs.  
  
He knew he didn't really have to rush to this extent but he also knew he would never forgive himself if he missed Justine and lost his only lead to find out what was happening.  
  
The sharp clang of his boots on the steel stairs echoed through the dimly lit corridors with great rapidity. He jumped a couple of steps as often as he could and gripped tightly onto the railing as he swung himself around the sharp corners. He bumped into a young man on his way down but continued without pause. The young man fell back into the wall and yelled out a string of obscenities at Wesley. He descended quickly and burst through the front door of the building. He stopped for a breather, welcoming the fresh air in his mind. He breathed deeply then sprinted around the corner, constantly on his toes avoiding people. Curving and side stepping through the crowd he eventually reached his car, parked next to the curb.  
  
It was a new car, as Justine stole his other one. He had gone for the lowest priced effective vehicle he could, one that worked and actually moved when you wanted it to. It was always hard to find a good bomb. He rammed his keys into the lock and swung open the door fiercely, diving into the driver's seat and slamming the door behind him just as hard. He was surprised that it hadn't fallen off its hinges yet. He revved the engine and took off although it was only seconds of speed before he was forced to join a gruelling traffic jam. So after all of his efforts to make speed he was now forced into moving inch by inch behind hundreds of people. No doubt they all thought that their reason for being on the road was just as important as Wesley's.  
  
He dug his fingers into his palm harshly, wondering how long he could bear the slow, gruelling wait. He had no idea what he would do with Justine once he had found her or indeed if he would find. He knew the chances were small but he had never felt so strongly about anything in his life. If he could find Justine and if she knew were to find Angel it was a chance for a step towards redemption and he was willing to take any risk to step it.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------- Lilah's eyes darted backwards and forwards across the page she held. She was taking a last glance over her project, for the 13th time. This was the 20-page ticket she had written to avoid punishment. She smiled as she finished the last word, dropping the stapled collection of papers on to her desk; this was a great opportunity for her, not only did she dodge punishment she could drop it onto her dimwitted competitor; a great opportunity indeed. She looked back out into the city and the sun; the two things melded together to great a picturesque image before her. She sighed as she stared at the city, wondering why she hadn't gone home yet. It's not as though she didn't have a home, she did, quite a nice one in fact; it's just that, unlike normal people home was not the place she wanted to be. She ate and slept there but really her life took place right here, in Wolfram and Hart.  
  
Suddenly her personal reflection was split in two when two men burst through the door. One was a security guard, with a tough, unmoving face and the other was another attorney she recognized as Dillan Richards. He was tall and skinny with a weak, timid looking face. He was nice though, a pleasure to talk to and although that would usually be a weakness but he could make some one loyal to him with a quick exchange of words.  
  
"Lilah," he said, shakily, "The girl in the white room."  
  
She perked up at this; it was very strange. Usually talk of the girl in the white room was strictly forbidden and she wondered why Dillan was addressing this to her.  
  
After a short pause he continued, ".she wants to speak to you."  
  
"What?" She replied in absolute shock, she could not comprehend why such an important player would want to speak to the likes of her.  
  
He nodded and she could tell he was just as stunned as she was.  
  
Lilah acted quickly, standing up and walking swiftly out the door, Dillan and the guard following. They walked briskly down the hall and were suddenly joined by another, more important looking person whom swerved into the group from around the corner. The senior-looking man opened the elevator door for her and told the others to return to their duties. The doors shut and the man immediately began pushing in a code of buttons.  
  
Damn! She was furious at herself for not catching the code. Knowledge like that could be worth a fortune and she just missed out because of a quick look at the man she was with. He was tall and strong looking, not just his moderately bulky body but his face was as hard as stone. Basically he looked like the kind of man who had spent a life with Wolfram and Hart.  
  
He pushed the big button that appeared above of the others and the lift began humming as it ascended and then suddenly white light erupted around them and swallowed them whole.  
  
Lilah looked around the white room for the second time. It seemed to be more important, more sacred since her last visit with Angel. Her eyes locked onto the young girl, sitting with folded arms and a straight back. She was the perfect image of innocence. She stood out strongly against the bright white of the room.  
  
"Leave us" She commanded with a powerful voice of Authority. The man disappeared into white and was gone.  
  
"Lilah," she spoke suddenly and quickly," I was behest to inform you of the coming events by the powers that be." She spoke quickly and clearly as though she was on a short deadline.  
  
"Wha."  
  
"SILENCE!"  
  
"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."  
  
Every word of the young girls echoed through Lilah's mind vividly, branded within her thoughts. The words were so powerful, so passionate that they were eternised within Lilah'. None of it was clear to Lilah; it opened up a line of questions that looked as though it would continue to grow. Lilah knew though that whatever the girl was talking about it wasn't any ordinary apocalypse, no; she realised that the world will be engulfed and she knew now that she was vital to the end.  
  
Well that's that at 5091 words. A little bit of my well planned storyline has started to crop up. Bye! 


	4. Today, We Are Driven

CHAPTER 4-Today, We Are Driven.

OK, here's the 4th chapter everybody! Thanks for all the feedback everyone! Everyone keep reviewing and I'll love you. Please tell me if I contradict anything that has previously occurred on Angel (discounting the 4th season as this story is written over it) Suggestions too!

Conner loved this time in the morning; the deep yellow sunlight bathed the city in heartfelt warmth. It was as though the sun was waking everyone to welcoming warmth. He didn't always love it though; often he despised it. Not because he didn't like it but because he was too tired or injured to enjoy it, it's strange how you mind can work sometimes. Today he felt alive, and it was great. Although his hands were wrapped tightly in dirty, bloodied bandages and continued to pain him he felt a strange power had overcome him. 

He walked down a crowded city street, soaking up as much sun as he could get whilst weaving between fellow pedestrians. It was just a swarm of people that seemed to exist to be in each other's way, so many people wearing similar tints of grey and black on their way to work. They all seemed to be robots, like a colony of ants; united in objective and motivation. It seemed to him that he was the only individual in the great mass of people. He was in one of the busier parts of the city for a good reason though; he was after some more weapons. Justine had given him some money after they had reunited last night, telling him that they needed more equipment to keep fighting. He didn't understand why she was so worried that night, after all it was he who was injured; she had come out without a scratch. Still, he was happy to obey; he wouldn't have bothered with any weapons himself but as she had bought it up he felt that she was right. The more weapons they bore the more damage they could inflict. He was heading towards the address that Justine had given him; it was just visible at the end of the street, when a head in the crowd snagged his attention. After glancing at so many idle eyes staring down at the pavement it was clear as glass when someone spied you, even if it was just for a second.

The man was further up in the crowd on his right and was walking towards Conner, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Conner kept walking forwards, another two metres and they would pass. Conner took his eyes off the man for a second and noticed another suspicious face weaving through the sea of people. He wore sunglasses so there was no way for Conner to tell what his eyes were up to but there was something menacing about the way he walked and his stern face told Conner that he was up to something. 

He blocked out all of the other thoughts that began to formulate in his mind and tried to form a plan of action. The tight crowd that filled the footpath was a disadvantage if there was a fight, if only he knew what they were trying to do. Where they trying to kill him, stalk him or maybe capture him? Maybe his suspicious nature had gotten the better of him. He neared the first man and at the last second decided to act as though he hadn't noticed a thing, wait for them to make the first move. Conner had to assume that they worked together. The other man passed him and didn't even turn his head, very professional. He wished he could drone out the constant clatter of other shoes to hear the first man's footsteps clearly. He knew he couldn't risk turning his head to watch the man who passed as that would clearly tell them that he knew what was going on. Suddenly something popped into Conners mind; it told him that he had to know what the man behind him was doing and it instantly became imperative. His mind churned through hundreds of possible actions before realising what to do. Fortunately Conner's mind had been trained to work quickly; Quatarth had taught him that, if nothing else. He swung his shoulder into an incoming pedestrian and span round, making sure it looked like it was an attempt to keep his balance. His eyes took in as much as possible as he span around his head.

His eyes scanned past the man, who now had his finger outstretched and his mouth opening and shutting at Conner. Conner suddenly found himself in a world of his own, he could see people shoes to the pavement but no noise came to his ears. Everything around him seemed to be moving slowly and his brain scanned everything. He had a unique ability to be able to observe so richly and speedily, but he didn't know his brain worked that differently to others. Something really caught his glancing eyes though, a figure he recognised as the man who was spying him quickly cut out of the crowd and ducked into what must have been a small alleyway between two shops. He cut off all his thoughts of suspicion abruptly and switched himself into action. He stopped his bodies turning momentum and began walking swiftly in the direction were he saw the man. He had his back to the sunglasses man now but it didn't matter, he felt that they were only human and that they didn't threaten his safety. He weaved through the crowd without care for courtesy or politeness, knocking into a few people and receiving an abundance of curses. He began to barge through, gathering speed to a slow run. As he dodged a man he noticed he was level with the alleyway; he hugged the wall and peered down the alleyway. He saw the man pacing back at fourth with his mobile to his ears and his eyes to the ground. He broke out into a light sprint, moving stealthily, without sound.

"It was definitely him" The man paused and waited for a reply.

"Park St" He replied to the receiver.

The man on the other end of the line was seriously aggravating him, making sure every detail was correct several times. He couldn't wait to hang up. A reply came from the receiver and he nodded, about to reply. As the word yes just began to escape his lips he felt the phone slid carefully out of his hand. He kept his hands in the holding position for a split second, his face staring at the dirty ground with a shocked look plastered on his face. Suddenly he looked up and as soon as he saw Conner's shirt he knew he was in big trouble. He cursed and jumped back against the damp, brick wall. Such a sudden blow of horror had knocked him off his feet. It felt as though he had been in a state of pure tranquillity for hours and then someone had suddenly stuck a pin in his throat. He'd never been that scared of seeing someone's shirt before, of course he was almost pissing himself with fear when Conner slammed the mobile onto the ground and jabbed his arm out to clamp a tight grip on his throat.

This was another one of those times when Conner felt truly happy to be alive. He smashed the phone down with as much might as he could and thing was now in about 10 000 pieces. He had heard a lot of the conversation and was determined to discover what these strange men were trying to do and above all who was their strings. He despised those who used others almost as much as he hated those who allowed themselves to be used. He grabbed the man around the throat, pushing his head as hard against the wall as possible.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" He demanded strongly, tightening his grip around the man's throat with every second an answer was not spoken.

The man was going purple and his eyes grew wide, he nodded frantically and pointed to Conner's hand clasped around his neck. Conner smiled sympathetically and released his hand. The man stepped froward from the wall and bent over, gasping for breath. Barely a second after he released his hold, Conner punched the guy in the side of the head. As the man was still bent over he fell to his knees with the force of the hit and let out a deep cry of pain. 

Conner looked down at him as though he was a rat, a lowly creature. Something powerful and wicked was evident in his eyes. He had no mercy for those who deserved none. He picked the guy up by the collar and held him up about 2 feet from the ground.

"Who told you to do this?" He said calmly yet with such a fierce demanding voice. The man stared at him stupidly as though he didn't know anything. Conner began to get angrier and angrier by the second; he had no time for guises. He clenched his fists and pulled back his arm, gesturing that the man was going to receive another punch. He grinned wickedly at the man, penetrating right into his soul to inflict as much fear as possible.

"Wolfram & Hart!" The man blurted out in a panicked tone. Conner was about a tenth of a second from unleashing another punch. Maybe he wasn't so stupid after all. After that thought set in his mind recognised the words that the man had spoken. The law firm with attitude, as Gunn had put it. When he was with Angel and Co, they constantly reminded him of how evil Wolfram & Hart was. He shuddered at the thought of Angel and punched the guy straight in the nose with all the power he could muster. He felt himself needing to let off a lot of steam. The guy's face was bloodied and mangled, but he deserved it; in Conner's mind anyway. 

His cruel smile was suddenly interrupted by a sudden sound of sprinting footsteps. Conner dropped the man and looked at the source of the sound. The man with sunglasses was running down the alleyway towards him and pulling something out from the inside of his suit simultaneously. Conner saw the gun just in time and dived in the opposite direction to where he was aiming. The man straightened his arm and stopped. The sound of a silenced gunshot filled the alleyway. And Conner saw a bit of brick fall away from the wall at the end of the alley. He had dived into the wall opposite the now, unconscious man. To him the weak sound the gun made comforted him, where he had come from things with more power made more noise and that was that; he had yet to learn the ways of Earth. 

He was just about to dive again when he realised that the man had no intention of firing another shot. The man kept his aim up vigilance but kept his finger lightly on the trigger. Conner took a quick glance behind him and analysed the bullet hole. It wasn't hard for him to tell then that the man had no intention of killing him. He got up calmly and took his time dusting himself off. The man was taken back by how calmly he was acting, which made it all the more fun for Conner.

Conner turned his head to the man and smiled coolly.

"Good morning" He began, walking at a relaxed pace towards the man.

"Stay where you are!" The man replied loudly, trying hopelessly to add strength to his voice.

Conner watched the gun follow his every move with interest. Smiling again he added, "I've got this feeling."

The man said nothing.

"I feel that you have no intention in using that gun against me and that you have been instructed not to do so." Conner smiled again and looked into the man's hidden eyes.

Conner felt that the man was falling apart with fear and he felt his power grow as the man's weakened. The situation should have been very tense, with a gun to Conners head and all but Conner had all but forgotten the gun now.

"How about you give me the gun and I walk away."

The man stood still, not moving while Conner advanced slowly. It was a long while before the man gave into Conner's pressure and dropped his aim. Conner walked right up to him and held out his hand, smiling at the other man's pathetic excuse for willpower. The man gave in then. He sighed with Disappointment for himself and gave the gun to Conner. Conner walked past and tucked the gun in his back pocket. He began to pick up his pace down the alley, eventually braking out into a run. He knew for sure that Wolfram & Hart knew his location so the best plan of action was to get the hell away.

--------------------------------

A piercing screech erupted in the quaint, empty neighbourhood as Wesley swerved sharply around a corner. A small amount of smoke drifted in the air from his skid. He revved up and sped down the clear street, it felt good to get out of the traffic and be free to drive. It had been so gruelling, sitting in a car, a machine capable of 120 km/h and being unable to move to his will.

Now that he was out of the city he had the wide, empty street to himself and he was damn well going to use it. He had his window down, and was breathing in the fresh air of the morning. As soon as he had entered the neighbourhood he had remembered exactly were to go, his recent visits to Holtz began to flash into memories, haunting him. He gripped the wheel tightly and raced through about 10 more streets in the same, fanatic manner. He spotted Holtz's estate from the end of the street; he had been there often enough to remember exactly were it was. He screeched to a halt and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. He walked a couple of steps before running up to the door, trying to control his consuming enthusiasm. He gained control of his breath and knocked twice, after all he had no idea who was there now, Holtz could have sold it. He had to wait a minute before the door was pulled open a few inches, guarded by a golden chain. Half of a head emerged from behind the door.

Justine and Wesley recognized each other instantly from a quick glance through the slightly ajar door. It was Justine who received the biggest shock, her eyes widened with shock; he was one of the last people she was expecting. 

He jaw dropped and her pupils grew; she hadn't known what to expect when she opened the door, but Wesley, it was a shock to the system.

When she had cunningly slit his throat in the park she was never meant to have to meet him again and all though she barely recollected that memory fear quickly overcame her. She slammed the door in his face and stepped back from it. Justine stared at the wooden door, desperately trying to get herself together and do something. She ignored Wesley banging relentlessly on the door and shouting her name. Suddenly she remembered that she could easily beat Wesley, after all he was just a normal guy, someone who hadn't spent the last 4 months training and killing. No matter how much he wanted revenge Justine wouldn't be punished. She regained her confidence and overcame her fear, running into the kitchen and picking up the largest, sharpest knife she could find and walking back out into the hall. She stood in the hall, about 6 meters from the door and waited for Wesley to kick the door down. Her heart began to beat rapidly and the blood flowed through her veins, for just that couple of seconds she couldn't wait to slit his throat again. All of the past month's traumatising events had taken their toll on Justine's mind; she had developed quite a craving for the fight, for blood. 

BANG! The strong wooden door fell straight down into the hallway with a great thump. Bit's of dust and splinters from the ruined lock hovered in front of Wesley, who stood menacingly in the doorway. Strong, vigorous sunlight poured into the hall from around Wesley's stout figure. The sun burdened her eyes and she squinted, retreating back down the hall, into the shade. Until now she had kept her knife safely concealed behind her back; she knelt to the ground as she raised her hand and threw the knife at Wesley. She couldn't see any emotions on his face but he stood as still as concrete as the dagger struck the wall beside him. The dagger stuck straight into the wall and made a strange noise as it's handle swung backwards and forwards from the force of the impact. Wesley began stepping down the hall, advancing menacingly on Justine.

Justine stepped back, his shaded face and heavy, methodic footsteps on the floorboards made her feel uneasy. She shook her head, ashamed at being intimidated by Wesley and ran forward, fists clenched, arms retracted, ready to throw a punch. 

Wesley felt his long, leather trench coat against his jeans as he stepped across the fallen door. He looked at Justine and the anger began to rise through his body; as he advanced on her she became more and more distressed. That was the effect he seemed to have on people nowadays; he was no longer the dorky Englishman with his head up his ass. He had grown, or at least changed. He smiled at her as she revealed a knife from behind her back and threw it by its blade. He knew already that he need not move and he felt the force of it as it pierced the wooden wall beside him. He continued his slow, menacing approach, inflicting fear with every step. He began to fill a strong sense of power flow through his body, an ever-growing strength.

He stopped his advance when he saw Justine sprint towards him. In three steps she was before him and throwing a deadly punch. It was a straight jab at his head, she had amazing force in her punch: it was extremely quick and deadly accurate. Wesley craned his neck to the side and her fist flew past his ear by mere millimetres. He felt it's force run through his hair.

She retracted her hand and took a swipe at the side of his face, missing only slightly as he stepped backwards. She lost her balance and began to fall forward. Wesley scooped his right arm backwards and swooped up with his fist, hitting her with full force in the chin. She was knocked back with the force and quickly stepped backwards, pushing her hand against the wall to stay up. She leaned against the wall and cupped her chin with her hand, breathing hard and looking up at Wesley with a pained face. 

Wesley looked into her eyes and tried to salvage a drop of sympathy from within his harsh thoughts, not a drop. He sneered at her and advanced.

"You bastard!" She spat, throwing herself off the wall and releasing her chin. She threw a curved punch at is head and Wesley had to bend his back to loop his head under the punch. He raised his head again and looked into her eyes for a split second before elbowing her in the same side of her jaw. She fell back against the wall and began to slide down it, towards the floor; her muscles were giving way. Wesley stepped forward and raised his arm to hit her in the chin again. He jabbed out his arm with great force only to smash it through the weak plaster of the wall; she had launched herself to the opposite wall. Plaster fell to the floor and it's dust floated in the air as Wesley began to turn. He saw the edge of her shoe just before it smashed into the side of his head, just near his ear. His head rang with pain as he collapsed against the wall he had just punched. He raised his arm as suddenly as possible when he saw her fist flying towards his face. He blocked the punch with his wrist and threw back his other arm to smack her in the side of her face. She started to step back with the pain but grabbed on to the wrist that had blocked her punch, pulling Wesley sharply towards her. He was bent over from the pull and she kneed him in the face with all her might. Wesley stumbled back down the hall, his whole head burning him with relentless, fierce pain. He stopped himself from falling over by outstretching his arms and pushing against the walls.

Both warriors took a pause to catch breath and control their pain. Justine's mouth felt like ripped apart from the inside, the taste of blood sickened her. She felt the blood ever so vividly as it trickled down her throat; she felt it pouring out of her nose and her mouth. A couple of drops left her chin and made an eerie sound as it dropped on the hard floorboards. Her whole mouth was a cauldron of sizzling pain. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and felt around until she found what she had feared she would. She took her fingers out and they were soaked in blood, carrying a stained tooth between them. She glared at Wesley's cool, hard face and forced a smile despite her pain. Her tooth clattered across the floorboards after she dropped it. Wesley's complexion was unchanged, despite the blood that ran thickly from his nose, his face remained as jaded and cold as ever.

Wesley gazed into Justine's tortured eyes as she clenched her fists and charged at him. Her fist was aimed straight at the middle of his face. He bent backward and watched her arm pass over his head. He grabbed her arm before she could pull it back and twisted it as hard as he could. She screamed with pain, he wouldn't be surprised if he'd broken it. He pushed her against the wall front on and held her arm back behind her. He swiftly flicked an arm behind him to his belt and drew a small dagger. He smiled and put it to the front of Justine's throat.

He had her in the perfect position now, one move and she was dead. He waited a few seconds for a reply but when none came he said, "hi Justine. You remember me right?"

"Wesley" She replied through bated breath

"Yes! Well done! I'm the guy whose throat you slit." He spoke mockingly, teasing her with his power.

She didn't reply.

"Well, if your not going to talk to me you wont need this voice box huh? Maybe I should just cut it out, hmm?"

"What do you want?"

"Just making a social call here Justine, catching up on some of the goss."

So, what have you been up to all this time?"

"Wesley, whatever this is about, I swear I haven't done anything."

"Yeah. Well I want to know everything about the nothing you've been doing. Where's Angel Dammit?"

"Is he missing?"

Wesley pushed her head harder against the wall.

"Don't play me as a fool Justine! I know you've been up to something, and it probably involves Angel."

"How do you know that?" He speech was slightly distorted as her lips were now pressed against the wall.

"Because, Justine, I know just how stupid you are. Where is he? What about Conner? Seen him lately?"

"I'm too stupid, I can't remember." She mocked.

Wesley pushed the knife harder against her throat.

"Where are they?" Wesley could see the corner of her face tremble and give in. Maybe his face told her that he would go all the way, and who knows? Maybe he would.

"I know where Angel is, I'll tell you. Please, let me go." She replied, half-sighing with Disappointment for giving in.

"Alright, but if you play meanI'll bleed you." Justine almost felt a shiver past through her at those last words. Just the sincere tone in which he spoke them spooked her.

He let go of Justine and tucked the dagger safely in his pocket. She turned around and glared at him with anger. Her face was a bloody mess, with blood still dripping from her red chin. The pale yellow wall practically had a red stamp of her face on it. Wesley licked the blood from his lips and wiped the blood under his nose with his hand.

He grabbed her arm and led her outside. "Come on, we have work to do."

"What?"

"You're going to lead me to Angel." She was being pulled along behind him, across the front lawn.

"Can I at least wipe my fucking mouth?" She blurted out as he threw her in the back seat. He opened the front door and sat down in the seat.

"Under my seat"

Justine frowned and peered under the seat in front of her. She spotted a box of tissues and pulled them out. She cringed, on the brink of tears as the tissue wiped across her cheek and face. Her head throbbed and she was struggling to deal with her pain. She would keep control though; she wouldn't let herself lose to pain as she had to Wesley.

Wesley tore off down the empty road as Justine threw her last tissue out the window. It was swept away by the wind and flew behind the car as Wesley sped up. Wesley grabbed the box of tissues and held his nose to stop the bleeding; he didn't want to look too suspicious. His face already seemed to trigger mistrust within every one he met.

Despite the pain he felt good, back on the road with the strong breezes blasting through the window. Justine began to tell him where to go and he couldn't wait to get out there and do something good.

-----------------------------------------

Lilah briefly recollected the last time she had visited files and records.

She smiled to herself as she descended a set of steep, marble stairs; she remembered it well. She had been doing her homework on Holtz. All those wasted hours she had spent leaning over thick, encrypted books with small text stuck in her memory like a fin in the water. At least now she knew that it was quite a lot easier to find what you want to know. She clicked down a metallic handle and entered a crammed, dimly lit room. It was stocked to the brink with file cabinets, all of them crammed to the brim with files. She walked past a couple of rows of cabinets and up to the desk. A young woman sat up and smiled at her.

"Lilah" She stated, in mild surprise.

"I want to know something."

"Well, you certainly came to the right place"

"Gwen, could you tell me if there is anything, like a prophecy or ancient text relating to a wolf"

Gwen curved her brow in curiosity but then smiled and replied, "certainly"

Lilah leaned against a stack of cabinets and watched Gwen's eyes flicker white and black. She knew nothing of what Gwen was but she knew for certain that she was a valuable asset for Wolfram and Hart; Lilah just hoped she could get to the bottom of what the girl had told her. She didn't have the slightest clue on what was happening; it was all an epic mystery to her, the answer so elusive, so vital. Whatever was happening Lilah knew that if need be, she had to go to the ends of the Earth to find out.

"5343 entries on subject, wolf."

Lilah's eye widened with disheartenment and shock. She felt like screaming at the top of her lungs with annoyance but she bit her tongue. She should have known searching for such a mythologic word was pointless.

She scanned her memory for the words that she had been given; it wasn't hard as the words were alive in her mind, they shielded her eyes and she saw them everywhere she went.

"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together. Like the lamb of the altar, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer. Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."

After receiving no reply from Lilah, Gwen spoke again, "If you're looking for something in particular then you might want to further specify your" She was suddenly cut off by Lilah.

"OK, hang on." Lilah pulled out a pen from her breast pocket and slid a piece of paper on Gwen's desk under its tip.

Please don't say any of this aloud.

Wolf, 7 days, a vessel, and a sacrifice.

Gwen nodded and tore up the note into pieces as her eyes flickered rapidly. The pieces of torn paper floated down into the dustbin.

"One record found" Lilah waited patiently as Gwen wrote down an address and a reference number on a second piece of notepaper. Lilah took the paper and carefully folded it away.

"Thankyou Gwen" She said, in probably the most sincere tone she had ever given out in her entire life. Shutting the door gently behind her she strolled swiftly down to the underground parking. As she walked into the lift she glanced Gavin walking swiftly out of Wolfram and Hart's front lobby doors. She frowned as the elevator doors closed. She could tell by the way he was walking that he had something important happening. 'Probably planning my assassination,' Lilah thought. That would be just like him, the coward. The elevator hummed softly; the elevator had but one passenger and descended straight to the car park.

The elevator doors slid opened with a 'bing', haunting against the silence of the carpark. Lilah walked briskly towards her car, briefly recollecting the time she had entered her car to find Angel sitting in the back seat. She had only recently resumed parking there.

She drove out of the car park hurriedly, greatly exited that she was in something truly important, for the first time in her life. She was dying to discover it all, to piece it all together.

Well, that's that at 5087 words. Please review.


	5. Tomorrow, We Drove

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 5-Tomorrow, We Drove

Hello everyone and thanks again to everyone who took the time and effort to read and review my story so far. Thanks for all the suggestions and I'll try and fit some of them in with the story line I have got already. It already involves the scoobies, to anyone who worries. Anyhow here is my fifth chapter, hope it doesn't disappoint.

Previously: Conner and Justine dumped Angel into the ocean in a sealed container.

Conner and Justine are living together in a house Holtz bought.

Lorne is returning.

Wesley has earned the cooperation of Justine in finding Angel.

The girl in the white room spoke of a prophecy to Lilah.

Lilah has found how to unearth prophecy and is going there.

Conner has been spotted by Wolfram and Hart and is on the run.

The year 1755, Ireland.

A small, pale-faced body rested pervertedly against the wall in the corner of an eerily silent, candle lit room. She was a young girl, about twelve, and had an innocent face of great purity. The candlelight did little to warm her broken soul; though not yet dead, her life was rapidly draining away before the two pairs of wicked eyes across the room. She bore a small, red, cross on her left cheek, carved into her skin with a sacred precision. The wall opposite her was stained with dark, cold, blood, in great quantity. On the ground below the dripping, red, wall, lay two dead bodies, in a puddle of blood, the girl's mother and father.

"I've never understood it. "Angelus said, sitting on a seat beside the family's dining table and watching the young daughter fade away. Darla, who was standing beside him, looked down at him curiously. "Family." Angel stated, keeping his eyes on the girl in the corner of the room. Darla looked back at the dying girl in thought. "Mortals. They spend their entire lives worrying about family, friends. They struggle to gain approval, it's all that they seek." She replied.

"The love between father and son, mother and daughter I don't understand these mortal's love for each other and I am thankful to you, Darla, for rescuing me from the clutches of their unavailing love."

"Did you not feel the love yourself, Angelus? After all you were human, albeit an unorthodox one."

"Their ceaseless requirements and expectations, from my father, from everybody, drove me away from them. Looking back at my life now, it's as though I'm watching a play, seeing what the performer's can never see." Angelus paused for a second. "I believe it was my farther who taught me how to hate, soul, or no soul."

Darla smiled at Angelus and managed a final glimpse of the girl's body before it became lifeless, a corpse.

Angel felt not the water he was submerged in, felt not the steel ropes that bound him tightly and relentlessly; he had sunk into another reality, his thoughts, emotions, were nothing but random recollections and strange dreams, day by day, hour by hour. He had not opened his eyes to the sea for a long time and as every second edged by it seemed he was falling into himself, his memories and dreams.

He did not hear the clanging, banging and other various noises of the following hour. By the strike of that hour he was partially pulled back into reality with his first sensation in a long time, the taste of blood, fresh, human, blood.

----------------------

Wesley felt the pain of the knife across his skin and the loss of blood overcoming him quickly. He had opened up the sealed container to find Angel starved and deprived, and, knowing that vampires can fall into eternal brain damage if they went without blood for too long, had pulled one of his trusted daggers out and, whilst biting his lip, slit his wrist. It would take a lot of blood to save Angel's mind. He swallowed a fierce yell for the sake of reputation and bit his lip as he felt every millilitre of blood gush out of the cut and into Angel's open mouth. Justine hovered around behind him and watched intently; she was amazed at the lengths Wesley was willing to go to save a vampire. She leaned against the wall of the small ship cabin, arms folded, eyes on the blood dripping out of Wesley's hand and into the vampire's mouth. The ship was on a steady course towards the shore and they would be there within 5 minutes. Justine still wondered why she told Wesley where Angel was, would he really have killed her?

Wesley's expression was one of concentration, trying to fend of the pain no doubt. As Angel drank she saw some colour return to his pale cheeks. Before long Wesley took his wrist away from its position above Angels head and wrapped a ready prepared bandage around it as tightly as he could; the bandage quickly began to shade with red. Justine had slowly began to respect Wesley as a character since they had sped away from her home, although she still hated him for beating a tooth out of her, at least it was a back tooth, not too important. Thoughts of revenge ran through her mind least once a minute but she had somehow forced herself to pass up every opportunity she had had, maybe, she didn't know why, but maybe she didn't want revenge. With all that had happened to her recently she was an emotional wreck, incapable of rationalisation or consideration but she felt that Wesley had nudged her out of a deep hole she had been digging, towards darkness. As Wesley helped Angel sit up Justine saw the drops of blood that had been left on the bench in the middle of the room. Angel was still completely in a daze, although he could smell, touch, see, and hear again, his brain didn't translate it all and he was stuck in a world of dreams.

"Take us in" Wesley commanded Justine sternly. She looked at him for a second, a thousand different actions to take flashing by her, and finally nodded, setting off up the stairs to the uppermost deck. Wesley wasn't stupid enough to leave someone as unstable as her alone with Angel in his current state. Angel was slowly recovering, he could tell, as his eye began to flicker every now and then and his complexion had more livelyness to it. He looked at his wrist and finally the pain began to catch up on him, not just his wrist but the bruises and cuts on his face as well. He fell back against the wooden wall and clenched his fists so that his fingernails dug fiercely into his palm. He stayed in the same locked position for a couple of minutes, calming himself and trying to focus through his sharp pain. He realised though, that despite the pain he was proud of what he did and that he had done something noble. Maybe he had taken that first step after all, although he would have to admit to hijacking a ship to do it.

He looked at his watch, about 8.00; he had made good time. He looked over at Angel, who was tossing and turning on the bench, looking as though he was about to roll off. Who knows what kind of thoughts he had buried himself in during his stay in the ocean. As Angel dreamt Wesley thought. He had no remorse for what he had done to Justine, although he might have if he had been wrong, if she had been innocent. His path to redemption had begun and he had no intent on haltering it.

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The Year 1812, Glasgow, Scotland.

A middle aged man sat at a small wooden table in a dimly lit, silent room. He had a small, open jar of black ink on the table beside him and was writing vigorously on a piece of worn parchment. His wrist was at full work as he jotted down the remainder of his thesis. There were two candles on each end of the table either side of him and they alone gave light to the room. There was a large window behind him, inbuilt to the thick stone wall of the university. No light came though it as it was as it was the dead of the night. He had been writing and researching the whole day and although he wished to return to his family for the night, he dared not leave this place, not now. He began to feel a strange, jarring cold, all of a sudden, and without warning. He began to feel the fear; he should have been safely at home, he knew it, but his work had to be finished, it was imperative and it can only be completed with the resources at the university. What he had placed on his scared parchment was a revolutionary thesis, by an old scholar with a denounced penchant for the supernatural. This paper was different though, years of work and he was sure they would believe that vampires were real and maybe he could change the world for the better. He knew though that the creatures of the night knew; he had been attacked several times before. He, or more specifically, his report was becoming a threat to them. It had been a great friend of his whom had yearned him to convince the world of the beasts. After he had heard of the pain that the vampires had caused Holtz he knew they must be stopped.

Two knocks on the wooden door, at the front of the room, broke the silence abruptly. The man almost fell backwards, off his chair. The cold of his solitude shook him more than ever. As cautiously as possible he opened a draw of his desk and pulled out a large, wooden crucifix; he was a man of faith and he wouldn't allow himself and his paper to fall into the hands of the devil. He began walking slowly towards the door, only three steps away before he came to sense and stepped backwards. He had best not approach the door, let the man, or thing, show itself. After about a minute of silence the door handle twisted, slowly, and hauntingly. His heart began to beat rapidly, becoming surer and surer that what stood behind that door was a vampire. After 3 eternally fearful seconds the door began to slowly drift open, as though it were acting on its own accord. The door banged against the wall and there stood Angelus.

Just the wicked, cruel smile Angelus wore was sign enough. He forced the cross out in front of him with one hand and put his other to his chest. Angelus was still about 6 meters away, but slowly approaching with methodic steps.

"So you're the great Alfred." Said Angelus, licking his lips.

"Though I don't represent the rest of my kind in general, I will agree with them on this one." Alfred began to slowly retreat to the window as Angelus slowly advanced.

"You think you're doing a good, noble thing don't you?" Angelus laughed wickedly. "You truly think that all the effort you've put into this was worth anything. I'll tell you now that it was all a waste of time, sorry I'm a bit late on that one but, well, you're a very, very, hard man to find. You did the right thing of course, trying to save all your family, friends. But you mortals, well I don't know, you just don't get it."

"Leave this place, my faith in thy father is greater than the deeds of those who serve the devil; with the cross of god as my ally no harm shall come to me." As he finished he bumped into the window at the end of the room, looking scared and weak. Angelus ignored the man and continued advancing. A predator who knows he has his pray, just plays with it. "I know that what you did really was at the best of heart, and I'm touched, truly. But you've got to understand it's not how we do things that matters, it's what we do. You could spend your entire life rolling a marble backwards and forwards with the best intentions for the world and you wouldn't achieve a thing." Angelus picked up Alfred's parchment and held it over the flame of a candle. The parchment lit and quickly began to burn. Tears rolled down Alfred's cheek and he sobbed with total despair, he felt his muscles give way and all he wanted to do was collapse to the ground and cry.

"All that life's work gone," Angelus stated mockingly, as he dropped a handful of ashes to the floor, "now it doesn't matter how much faith you had, how good your intentions were, you did nothing." Angelus kept a cool glare on the man, his wicked smile and pleasured eyes, breaking him further.

Although Alfred had his eyes to the wet ground below him and was leaning limply against the window, he still held his cross out in front of him. Angelus did not dare come within a meter of him whilst he held the cross so tightly so he wandered over to the dead fireplace and picked up a fire poker. Swinging the fire poker around in his fingers, he walked back the centre of the room and without the slightest warning threw the poker at Alfred's face. The poker flew towards him like a precise bullet and the point pierced right into his head, knocking it back into the window. Blood ran from the wound and all over his face; he died a broken man. He was kneeling on the ground, with his head bent backward through the broken patch of window, on the window seal. His crucifix was still weakly gripped on the floor as Angelus kicked it out of his hand. Alfred's face was far too soaked with blood for Angelus to bother carving a cross into his cheek. Angelus looked down at the tortured man below him, his sad, decrepit face, was devoid of honour or strength. The picture before him was like a clear, framed, image of sacrilege at its worst. Angel smiled, a pleasured look covered his face and he turned his back to the man and walked swiftly out of the door, a smug look on his face.

-------------------

"Where the hell is he?" Gunn thought out loud as he desperately scanned the arrival crowd again.

"Maybe, he's just really slow and will be the last one out of the plane. Oh my God, Gunn, what if something happened to _him?"_

Fred and Gunn were waiting impatiently in a practically empty airport. They had come to pick up Lorne but so far had not been very successful. There were few people in their little spot of the airport as most of the arrival passengers and those who had met them were long gone. Fred dropped her shoulders and sighed, looking at the blue carpet with a disappointed face. Gunn, on the other hand, was straining his neck to get a good look, he wasn't good at giving up, and, after all, there was still a bunch of people collecting their luggage. Suddenly an average built man stepped out from the crowd with a big, brown suitcase dragging down his left shoulder with its weight. Gunn raised his eyebrows when he got a good look at the man. He was alone and wore a scarf completely wrapped around his face, accompanied by a pair of sunglasses. He even had gloves on his hands. Gunn smiled with deep relief and called out to him. Lorne looked around and then spotted them.

He was so relieved to find them, not just because he missed them but because they no doubt had a car, and that meant he could relief himself of all the crap he'd had to pile on himself. He waved to them and picked up his pace, heading towards them as fast as he could, keeping in mind the extreme weight of his suitcase. Although Lorne had enjoyed himself in Vegas he had realised that he'd never had any intention of living there. He had tried to rekindle his love for singing, well, not so much for singing but for singing with people, that always appealed to him as the best way to get to know people, aside from just the destiny reading point of view. He had been very busy in L.A and was ashamed when he couldn't find the time to talk to Fred, that wasn't the reason though; he just wanted to be back in LA The city had something, even though he had sensed a bad vibe coming from Fred.

Just before Lorne got a chance to shake Gunn's outstretched hand and take in account his warming smile, Fred practically dived into him, almost knocking him to the floor. She gave him a tight, welcoming, hug, then bounced back with a huge grin across her face. Lorne noted how ecstatic Fred was to see him, although heart warming, it seemed a little off. He shook Gunn's hand and found his own being shaken vigorously; they were both way too happy to see him. Lorne stepped back and admired both of their beaming faces for a couple of seconds.

"Car" He said, and although it sounded more like a 'mph' to the others they seemed to understand. All three of them turned and walked to the exit of the airport without a word.

-------------------

6 hours ago

Gavin heard the familiar beep of the lobby hall's elevator and saw the doors close out of the corner of his eyes. He noticed someone in there but had no need to bother with wondering whom. He was walking briskly out past the front reception and into the brightly lit, marble-floored front lobby. He was in a very determined, motivated mood and even had a good reason to be; one of his contacts had just called and said they'd located Conner, and captured him. If this was true, and it was bound to be, then he would be the proud worker up for employee of the month, at the very least. The thing he was looking forward to the most was when Lynwood returns and asks he and Lilah what they had accomplished during his absence. Gavin will be able to hand over to him a complex report on Conner's physiology and psyche and Lilah will be able to admit to doing jack shit, effectively ensuring blame for the loss of Angel. What's more, if Angel's disappearance was linked to Conner's then he had a ticket to finding Angel, effectively giving him a ticket to glory in the ranks of Wolfram and Hart. 

The sleek, glass, front doors slid open and he walked outside and down the long set of stairs, towards his car, parked on the street at the bottom of the stairs. They told him Conner was being held at 25 Manor Road and he didn't intend on letting them transport him to Wolfram and Hart without supervision. The shiny, tinted windows of Wolfram and Hart retreated as Gavin sped away in his dark, green Merc.

3 hours ago

A white van with heavily tinted windows pulled into the Wolfram and Hart underground parking facility. Inside Conner lay, limp, on the hard ground, hands and feet tightly cuffed. In the back, with him, sat two, bulky men with long, black sedation rifles propped up against their shoulders. In the front, Gavin sat in the passenger seat with a mobile to his ear and a jaded, silent, man had the wheel beside him. It was only a two seater so the rest of it was a rusty, metal floor. But for Gavin, on the phone there was no speech. 

"Yes, yes, it's me, Gavin. Yes I understand that but, but, I have news your might be interested in. Yes it is. I have just recently acquired Conner at Wolfram and Hart's disposal. No, no, she had nothing to do with this as he was captured at none but my own accord. Yes, yes sir. I have only recently been apprised on that one myself but I'm sure that Conner will be the key to finding him." Gavin went to continue but realised the phone was dead; Lynwood had hung up. Gavin tucked his mobile into his pocket with a smug grin. He felt a warm rush of relief and comfort sweep over him; winning Lynwood over was no simple task to say the least.

The white van did not park; instead it drove up to a guarded garage door near the back of the parking lot and paused. A security guard stepped out of his post and walked up to Gavin's side of the van. Before he got the chance to ask, Gavin held out his authentication pass through the window. The guard took it out of his hand and looked closely at it for a while before passing it back up to Gavin, and walking back to his post to press the hidden button under his desk. Gavin smiled; he finally felt like he was getting somewhere, to be motivated and to be doing something, the drive, it's what we need to be truly content and right now he was overjoyed at the importance. It excited him, drove him.

The van drove under the still opening door and up a concrete ramp inside it. It parked on a large, concrete surface parallel to the ramp. As soon as they stopped the back doors swung open and Gavin jumped out of his side of the van. Behind him the garage door was humming as it closed. Gavin walked swiftly to the rear of the van to see the two men emerge, carrying the still sedated Conner between them. Gavin gestured towards a small, steel door on the wall to their right. As they carried Conner to the door and through it, Gavin walked around to the driver's side of the van and peered in through the open window. The driver turned and looked down at him with his typical flat, 2D, glare. His eyes were cold and thoughtless and his face made no change in complexion no matter what. He was like a moving statue, if you could have such a thing. Yet, Gavin sensed something as he spoke to the man, and it wasn't good. The driver almost made him feel threatened with his sinister glare.

"Take that door," Gavin said, pointing to a second steel door, embedded into the concrete walls, this time, directly in front of the van; "It'll lead you to the back doors of the building. There will be a car waiting. " Gavin waited for a reply, but after the man stared at him for a couple of seconds before twisting the handle of his door to get out, he added, " be sure to thank your boss for me and remind him of my hopes for a strong partnership in the future. " Gavin smiled at the man, almost with a cunning hint. The man simply nodded, stepped out of the truck and left through the steel door Gavin had specified. He looked strangely inhuman, as his dark suit was so neatly worn, it was like it was a part of him. Like, you didn't recognise them as clothes alone, you saw them as the things he wore. It appeared to Gavin that he had worn the suit his entire life. The man had a white shirt under his buttoned up jacket and Gavin could see a light blue tie as well.

Gavin watched the door for a second then thought out loud, "such high employee standards." Shaking his head mockingly, he walked through the open steel door to his right. The white van lay dormant in the cold concrete room, never to be used again.

----------

"Damn," Lilah thought to herself as she slammed another thick, worn book close, "when Gwen said one, she _really _means one." She sighed as she rested her elbow on the antique, wooden table and dug her forehead into her palm, trying not to look at the mountain of books she had been skipping through since six hours ago, not to mention the one's she had not yet touched. Her mind was bulging with useless, unwanted information from the many books she had scanned through in the search for an answer. She was sitting in a cosy room, with a vigorously burning fire going in the fireplace behind her. The fire had warmed the whole room long ago and the room was becoming such a comforting atmosphere she was beginning to hate it. She never liked being too comfortable; it eased your mind, caused you to think less. Apart from the light from the fire there was a dim, ceiling light and a small, antique lamp beside her, on the table. It was quite a small room and contained only one window, to her right, and apart from her table and chair the only furniture was a comfortable looking armchair beside the window. She faced a blank wall, bear of any features. Come on, a poster wouldn't have hurt' she thought to herself, and began to focus her eyes on the wall, being consumed by it's pale, yellow blankness. She could have been there for hours more, just staring at the wall, like she did her office roof sometimes. She enjoyed the times when you could just look at something and not think, at all.

As she stared in her relentless manor, the rare flicker of the ceiling light and the vigilant crackling of the fire were the only things to reach her mind. Apart from these occurrences she had not been disturbed by a single noise the entire night. The fierce light of the moon was visible through the window and no sound was heard from the outside. Lilah became more and more induced into the blinding comfort of thoughtless of relaxation and her vision became slightly blurry as she drifted towards sleep. That's what concentration does to you, tires you. The drive, it is your ally and once you have been driven you may rest with the knowledge that you drove, that you accomplished.

Just as Lilah felt her eyes give way to sleep. A thick black streak across the void of yellow her vision had fallen into broke her rest. It shocked her beyond words and she fell backwards in her chair, tumbling to the side to avoid the fire. Her heart was beating faster and faster and her breaths became heavy and chilling. The light flickered and she let out a small scream, as she crawled backwards across the floorboards, towards the window. She was still looking at the wall facing the window, trying desperately to calm herself down. Her evident reluctance to shift her sight to the blank wall scared her further, like when you can sometimes sense that something is there. She sat on the floor, leaning against the wall behind the window. After about a minute she blocked the now eerie noises of the fire and the light from her mind and her breath began to steady. After another minute she was 100% certain that she was just being paranoid and that it was probably a dream anyway. Still, the silence freaked her and she found herself scared to face the wall. She used all the will she had to stand up and even more than she thought she had to turn her head slowly towards the wall. She smiled as the blank yellow wall came into the corner of her sight and just as she was about to take a huge sigh of relief a line of black came into view. Before jumping back in shock she turned her head to the wall completely. She saw a neatly written message across it and then jumped back in pure shock and terror. "SHIT!" She screamed at the top of her lungs covering her face with her hands, and stepping away from the wall. Now her heart was pounding more than ever. To her mind she heard the crackling of the fire speed up and the light began to flicker rapidly. She breathed in deeply, trying to be strong in ignoring the light and the fire, and stepping towards the message. She moved close enough and read with wide eyes.

The Earth's survival rests on the one book, the answer. You must take the marked book, apprise, and be apprised. They are coming; the wolf must fly with the knowledge.

Lilah stared at the wall with a completely shocked expression, unable to move or think she simply stared at the message. It looked as though it had been written carefully in charcoal and the words seemed to be formed into a strange beauty that had Lilah puzzled. She shook her head and the terror started to leave her, as shocking as the words were they told her the writer's alliance; they were trying to help her. Now thousands of questions filled her mind and she could not decide on any clear action. Suddenly she noticed the words were gone. She didn't see them go, just realised they weren't there, it was one of the strangest sensations she's ever felt. She sighed with relief, the words, however well intended were menacing and she would have panicked had they remained. Her brief period of relief was shattered when a deep, soul-piercing yell came from downstairs. This frightened her even more than the words. Something deadly was happening; she could feel now that something was coming for her, or for the book. More yells came from downstairs, yells of pure agony and despair. He was the man who guarded these books. She gulped and began to shudder with fear. She turned back to the wall to see one huge word, this time scrawled messily, across it.

NOW

She felt like crying with fear but she bit her finger nail hard and jumped into action. She had to find a marked book, then she would break the window and escape. Pushing all the books onto the floor she scrambled through them desperately. She had so little time and she felt despair creeping up on her, the things downstairs would be up there in no time. She jumped up and locked the door before returning to her books. She threw them around hastily, searching for a mark of some sought. She suddenly paused when she heard a short, menacing sound of a heavy footstep. She was breathing very quickly and was becoming more and more sure that she was going to die. Another footstep on the stairs behind the wall in front of her threw her into frenzy. Another footstep, the sound becoming ever more vivid to Lilah's ears. She saw something on one of the books that looked ever so slightly different to the others. Another footstep came. The book had black chalky powder all over it. You wouldn't believe the relief she found just then. She picked up her chair from the ground in front of the fireplace and without hesitation threw it through the window. Knocking out the big pieces of remaining glass with her hard covered book she climbed outside, holding onto the windowsill. She reached desperately for the thick branch of a tree next to her and after a couple of goes she grabbed it and swung her weight onto it. Holding on with one hand she pulled herself across the branch, reach by reach. She heard a loud crashing noise and the haunting sound of splintered wood from the room above her. Screw climbing' She thought before hastily dropping to the grass below. She landed in a crouching position and sustained her balance. Lilah did not hesitate; she ran onto the footpath and kept running. She dared not look back. Whether the thing was following her or whether it was standing in the room, watching her run, the best plan was to run.

Well that's it at 5310 words, sorry if it's a bit long; they won't all be like that I assure you. Thanks for reading!


	6. Lost and Found

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 6-Lost and Found

A dark, solemn man sat on a small boulder, hunched over in deep thought. Before him stretched the dark ocean and the vast sky above him. Behind him sat an old red car; a red haired woman leaning impatiently against it with arms folded. The boulder was no further than a meter from the edge, with a sharp cliff beyond it. There was a chilling sea breeze blowing into Wesley's face as he watched the ocean intently; his thin, untidy hair blew lightly across his eyes. For the first time in a while he had done something to be proud of, now he took the chance to spend a minute alone in thought. He craved so much to be able to put his tortured mind at rest and just be blown away by the gentle wind, like a feather, free of weight. At the moment weight was in unwanted abundance; his soul was tormented every second of every day, with guilt, anger, remorse. Breathing the fresh night air gave him a deep dose of hope, hope for himself, and hope for humanity. So, he sat and stared. The blackness before his eyes was like an endless void of relief, the black water, the black night; they all bore specs of hope among the dark. The white horses of the choppy water were but a reflection of the starry sky. Wesley saw it now, he saw the way he hadn't cared, the way he had hated, and all though at the time it was all he saw he knew now that all those feelings meant nothing. People saw his face, and it sparked the cold. Wesley didn't want to be a puppet with hundred of little strings, all neatly labelled, fear, anger, love; he wanted to be free of those feelings, those feelings that can drive a man to any place, whether it be hell or heaven. And right now, as he breathed his last breath of true air and heard his last sound of breaking waves, he realised that those are the things that made us human. He smiled to himself, and saw it in the night's reflection; it cracked the mask he had been wearing.

He turned his back to the waves and headed towards his car. Justine pushed herself away from the car and stood beside it, waiting for him with a visible feeling of relief. The gravel of the old road crushed beneath his boots as he approached the car.

"Finally. What took you so long deep-and-thoughtful guy? Having a private party up there huh?"

"Something like that." Wesley replied, without lifting his gaze to her.

"Why didn't you just drive off? Escape?" He continued, walking past her to the driver's side and swinging it open. Justine followed casually behind him, running her fingers across the bonnet.

"Ummyou had the keys, dumb ass!" He sat down in the seat and turned his head to Angel. Angel was in the back, lying across the seats. He was looking a lot better and Wesley was glad he's got there in time. Angel had been saved, but not by much.

"I'm sure you're perfectly capable of hot wiring a car Justine." He replied, his eyes still on Angel. He reached over to the door handle and slammed close the door. Justine peered in through the open, door window and smiled with fake sincerity. Finally Wesley broke his stare from the stirring Angel and looked Justine right in the eyes. Justine was intimidated by his close, hard glare. "Maybe you didn't _want _to." Justine gulped when she realised where he was going. Had she changed? Had she seen the light, so to speak? She contemplated everything she felt in a few seconds and tried to glare back in to Wesley's hard eyes and justify how she felt. Justine's hair was blowing wildly in the wind and she looked into Wesley's eyes, about 10cm from her own. She tried; she tried with all the will she had inside her to say sorry, to finally come to terms with what she had done to Wesley but at the last moment she retreated from the window and stood about a meter from the car. She'd lost to herself.

"You know I can't say it Wesley. It wouldn't be me if I did." Wesley smiled at her, shaking his head as he did. He stared at the steering wheel in front of him, and, without looking back up at Justine, fished a bunch of notes out of his front pocket and threw them out of the window. They blew about in the wind shortly before resting by Justine's feet.

"Wh?" Justine muttered with a curved brow.

"It's for the dentil bill." Wesley replied as the engine revved up. He didn't look at her; he kept a sly grin on his face and his eyes firmly on the road in front of him. Dust blew across Justine's hunched figure as Wesley sped off into the night and she huddled over her bundle of money. As the trail of dust in the air settled, she said out loud, "thankyou.".

---------------

A panicked figure ran down the moonlit footpath of an empty suburban street. Further down the road a man stood behind a broken window and watched her as she desperately ran for her life. The man made no attempt to move as he watched her trip over and land with knees to the pavement. He could have smiled with pleasure as he heard her whimper. She was strong though, stronger than many, and she ripped off her shoes and threw them on to the lawn beside her as she struggled back to her feet and began to run again. A loud crashing sound of broken wood came to the man's ears from below him. He looked down at the flattened door and at the figure that stepped upon it. His slick, black hair shone with the bright moon, and his neat, dark suit menaced his strong figure. He looked up to the man at the window and received a silent nod. The man below looked forward for but a second before sprinting to the side and speeding towards the racing figure ahead. 

Lilah's leg pained her every step as she ran down the footpath. She was tired, scared, and hurting but it was her newly found strive to live cracked at her feet, pushing her forever onwards. She held the thick, heavy book to her chest and trod the harsh ground with her tearing socks. Tears were forming in her eyes as she ran something was coming for her and God knows what it would do if it found her. It had killed the guard to her books with ease, and that meant a lot; with a book this important Wolfram and Hart would not take chances. 

Suddenly, just as she was considering slowing her pace she heard rapid footsteps from behind. For some reason her body just stopped moving and she turned her head to the fast approaching hunter. Headlights from a car touched her back as she stared in shock at the man heading towards her. He wore a dark suit, atop a white shirt with a blue tie. His cruel, unblinking eyes were locked onto hers as he came ever closer. The thing looked inhuman against the soft breeze, and with its eyes so unforgiving. She shook her head as the thing arrived within 30meters of her. She heard the car behind her and smiled with pure relief. 25 meters. Lilah quickly sped onto the road, in front of the car and waved her arms around. The car screeched to a halt just in front of her. There was only one man in it and he swung open the door and went to shout out to her. 15 meters. The footsteps became faster and louder in the silent night. Lilah quickly ran around to the open door, and, without even looking at the man, reached into the car and grabbed the keys out of the ignition. 5 meters. 

"Wh?" Before the man could finish his single word he had a long, sharp key through his eye. He screamed out deeply and painfully into the night, and it echoed into the distance. Lilah ripped the key out and blood spurted out onto the road just beside her feet. 

She had no time to think any more, her mind had gone into action mode. She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him out of his seat, dropping him beside her, onto the dampened road. Jumping into the driver's seat, she rammed the keys back in their spot and revved the engine. The man lay on the road beside her, sobbing with unbearable pain as blood flooded his face and the road. Lilah saw the man running towards the car, now only about three meters away. As she pushed down on the accelerator with all her might, he took a huge leap forward onto the bonnet. His face was staring right into Lilah's eyes. He sneered at her and, as the car sped forward down the street, climbed forward. He used his fingers as claws to pull himself forward; its strength shocked Lilah, as it managed to slam its fingers right through the bonnet. She began to swerve the car to throw him off but his fingers were firmly dug into the steel. 

As the car neared the house it had all began at; she leaned to the side to grab a steering wheel lock from under the passenger seat. She wrapped her fingers around it tightly as small fragments of glass showered her side. As she was sitting back up she saw another one of the men, exactly identical, rush out from the flattened doorway. Her eyes widened with fear once more. She was beginning to doubt she was going to live. She looked forward again. The man on the bonnet had smashed his fists through the windscreen and his hands were almost close enough to touch the steering wheel. Lilah's heart was pounding as she raised the lock above her head and swung it down on the man's grasping fingers with full force. His face did not change emotion and he continued to reach forward. Glass smashed across her face from the left as she raised the lock once more, this time leaning forward and bringing it down on his skull. She heard a sickening crunching sound as the end of the lock sunk deeply into his skull. He held on for a moment longer before blood began to seep through his hair and pour out of his nose. His eyes closed and he rolled off the bonnet. The car did a little bump as it ran over his lifeless body. Lilah began to feel sick as she tried to concentrate on the road. All that blood, death, she couldn't handle it. Her vision became slightly blurry as her mind ached and her stomach churned. 

A sudden noise fought off the sickness as the passenger door was ripped off its hinges. Lilah was silent, she didn't scream or cry, her mind was striving for one thing: survival. The man who had smashed the passenger window was now leaning in, beginning to get a good position on the seat. She couldn't reach him with the lock so she only had one choice. Both his hands were occupied, pulling him into the car, so she threw the lock, full force, towards his ugly, sneering face. He was instantly knocked back by its force and released his solid grip, falling limply to the ground and tumbling across the road. Lilah spied the three bodies lying across the wide street through the rear view mirror as she made a left turn. She felt sick from all the fear, revolt, and pain that had been branded in her mind from tonight. It was probably the most traumatising thing that ever happened to her. She peered down at her hands on the steering wheel; they were sprayed with thick, red blood and were a truly haunting sight. The car had suffered worse. The bonnet was littered with small holes where the man had shoved his fingers. Her half of the windscreen was missing, The door to her left was missing and there were little crumbs of glass all over her and the seats. Her mind began to turn to the many thousands of questions that had arrived during the last hour. There were far to many to consider so she shifted her thoughts to one. Who, or what, were the things after her?

-------------

"Alright kiddos, hows about filling Lorne in on the solemn little secret you've got hiding under your skin?" Lorne said, as he dropped his scarf onto his suitcase beside him. No reply came from either Gunn, in the driver's seat, or Fred, in the passenger seat, and Lorne took the pause in conversation to strip himself further of his other bits of useless clothing he'd worn to not scare the living daylights out of people. Lorne stared into the rear view mirror and saw Gunn's eyes looking right back at him. As Lorne threw his black, leather gloves to the floor he kept his eyes firmly on Gunn's, and he saw the reluctance shine threw before he managed to speak. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but, we've got a missing persons situation on board at the moment. "Said Gunn, turning his eyes back to the road. Fred practiced being a statue with her eyes glued to the road, letting Gunn do the talking. Lorne nodded understandingly before flashing a quizzical look and responding with a dumbfounded, "huh?". 

"Well, what I mean isThey're all gone." 

"What? Who's gone?" Fred finally broke her vow of silence and stillness when she turned around to face Lorne.

"Everyone" She sighed.

"By everyone, you don't mean"

She nodded solemnly and looked down at the floor.

"Angel, Cordy, Conner, Groo! All of them gone, and not a sign." Gunn filled in. Lorne was sitting in the middle of the three back seats and set his gaze onto the road in front. He stared intently for a second before replying with a blunt, "bummer". Gunn nodded. "It's been hell for us."

"Every day we've been following up the few leads we've had to no avail." Fred continued for him.

"I can see why you were so happy to have me back. Well, I'll see what I can do tomorrow." Lorne replied, adding a yawn and lying back against the seat.

"Yes, I think you should rest." Fred said, a little unenthusiastically.

"I'm agreed on that one." Lorne replied, staring up at the car roof. Fred was secretly disappointed in Lorne's cool response to their problem. She had always pictured him getting extremely angry or depressed at something like this, so when he was a able to shrug it off for the sake of a good night's sleep it made her feel a little resentful. Still she stopped herself from showing any signs of the thought, after all; she had no idea what had happened over in Vegas. He mightn't have slept for days.

He opened one eye when he felt an anxious vibe from Fred and saw her looking at his suitcase grimly. Lorne put a warming smile on his face.

"First thing tomorrow I'll check out every source in the book. I assure you Fred, from tomorrow morning I won't rest until I find something. We'll find them, one will lead to the other, you'll see."

Fred looked at him thankfully, with the sincerest smile she could muster.

"It's just a little hard to be optimistic when you've spent the last four days searching and not finding."

"Damn straight." Gunn added.

"I see now why you were all obsessive with the phone calls. I'm really sorry about that, not being able to talk long I mean."

"Have you asked Wesley on?"

"No." Said Gunn, cutting off Lorne's question.

"I see." He said with an exasperated look present on his face.

"Well," said Lorne, stretching his arms, making himself more relaxed in his seat, "it's still great to be home. Even if it isn't the home I expected."

-----------------

"What do you want from me?" Conner managed to say through his rushing breaths. He was breathing heavily with pain and even the smallest action such as talking added weight to his suffering. Conner was leaning against a concrete wall with his wrists and ankles bound to it by chains. It was a small room, with no windows and only one, closed, steel door. A couple of meters in front of Conner, Gavin was sitting on a small wooden chair, in front of a bare wooden desk. Behind the desk, in either corner, stood two, unmoving men. They stood to the shadows of the corner and their face could not be seen. The only light in the room was a bright lamp on the desk, facing towards Conner. Gavin was hunched over, with his chin resting on his palm, and his elbow on his knee.

"Yes, Conner. You are here for a reason. We will get to that later." Gavin said, standing up and beginning to pace backwards and forwards in front of Conner. "Tell me now." Conner spat, trying to sound as demanding as possible with his weak, tired voice. "Surely you should realise that you're not here to ask questions. You're here to answer them. You have noticed upon waking that you are dreadfully pained." Conner sneered hatefully and kept a cold glare on Gavin as he spoke. "Of course, with you being famously indifferent to pain, I added an extra touch."

"Why?"

"It was necessary to ensure that you had little power to resist. Of course, I don't _want _to hurt you, your Angel's son." Conner glared as he watched a cruel smile spread across Gavin's face.

"And you're his enemy." Conner said, a little more calmly. Gavin let out a small laugh. "Thanks for that. I rarely laugh." Conner smiled at his pathetic remark.

Gavin cleared his throat before continuing. "How about I tell you what I want and what you'll get in return."

"Sounds reasonable." Gavin smiled.

"I'm being very reasonable here. I can imagine what could happen to you if someone else around here found you."

"You didn't find me."

"Let's talk about Angel." Gavin said, ignoring Conners last comment and throwing him into the real subject.

"Why?"

"He's very valuable to us here at Wolfram and Hart, and, as you probably know, he's been missing for a very long time."

"What am I, psychic?"

"Don't play with me Conner. In this situation, well, let's just say, it could only end badly."

"It started off pretty bad."

"I know that you know where Angel is." The weak smile that was growing across Conner's face suddenly disappeared. Gavin really had no idea about what Conner knew but he knew the tricks of the trade. The best way to make someone talk was to make them think they had no way to lie.

"How would you know anything?" Said Conner, anxiously. Gavin leaned against the desk and smiled cunningly.

"You're lying!" He tried in desperation.

"Hey! I'm a lawyer!" Said Gavin before bursting into laughter. "But I'm also a man of my word. Are you?"

"Angel told me all about you, never trust them, he said." Gavin pouted sarcastically. "Well, last I heard you weren't exactly in with trusting your Dad."

"Please, feel free to call him Angel."

"WHERE IS HE?" Gavin shouted at the top of his lungs. Conner stared at him until he clicked his fingers loudly. One of the men from the corner of the room walked forwards, into the light, and stood in front of Conner. The man had a jaded face and wore a brown leather jacket. 

A minute later and Conner still hadn't spoke. Gavin sighed at him and shook his head in a disappointed manner. The man stepped forwards and pulled out a knife. He twirled it in his fingers before striking it downwards, through Conner's shirt and less than a centimetre away from his skin. The knife ripped down the centre of his shirt, tearing it open. His shirt was sliced down through the middle and Conner took the chance to glance his painful chest. His eyes widened with horror as he saw the blotches of black and blue that littered it. It was now no mystery why it was so impossibly hard it was to breathe. The pain got worse, as it always does, when he saw the bruises, and it became even more painful with every torturous breath. The man kept his eyes off Conner's face as he lowered the blade of his knife to Conner's chest. Conner shivered as he felt the cold metal touching his bare chest. The man kept it gently resting on his skin, which seemed to drag out the fear.

"Alright, Conner, let's try this again shall we? Where is Angel?" Conner looked down at the knife on his chest, and felt the burning sensation that already throbbed through his mind. He sighed with lost honour and pride.

"There really is nothing I can do." He said, with a disheartened look on his face. "He's in the water."

"What?" Said Gavin, a confused look on his face.

"Yes, the sea, the ocean." Gavin finally started to think about his answer.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I sealed him in a container and dumped him."

"In the ocean?"

"Yes, off point Dune." Gavin stood up straight and smiled with pure joy. He could not believe his luck, a promotion was now ensured. His accomplishments would now make him a minor legend around Wolfram and Hart. Not only did he find and capture Conner but he found Angel as well. He'd found the two things Wolfram and Hart desperately wanted.

"I was really hoping to keep him there." Said Conner, still looking at the concrete ground. Gavin signalled the men to stay outside and walked out the steel door without taking another glance at Conner. "Hey! Wait! Let me go! You son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" By the time he'd screamed out his last sentence the steel door was closed and there was no one left to hear his shout but himself. The lamp was off and he could see nothing but pure darkness around him. Conner was ashamed at himself now that the knife was no longer on his chest. He was ashamed at being so pathetic under danger, it wasn't fear that had got to him, it was hope. There was only one hope of getting free and that was to tell him. That hope was now dampened as he sat in the dark, empty room, with shame, despair, and gruelling pain.

--------------

Lilah was still driving away form the street. Manor road, its name would ring fear in her mind when it was said. She had sped away desperately for the last twenty minutes, positive that she would look in the mirror and see a menacing figure sprinting behind the car. Finally, her mind and heart slowed as she escaped the horror by distance. The further she got the more clear her thoughts were, and now, as she parked the ruined car beside a suburban curb, her mind eluded the fear and rang questions endlessly within her thoughts. She was in a daze, and after the car halted to a stop she just stared out at the moonlit street before her. She was looking through the broken windscreen at the road and she remembered her last look of the horror. She could almost see the three men rolling around on the road in agony. She watched them writhe hopelessly within her thoughts and tried to ignore the sickening feeling that was stalking her mind. She gulped, swallowing her fear, and blinked. The image of the scattered bodies was gone, only the bare road stretched before her. She crawled over the passenger seat, vaguely feeling the glass beneath her knees. She stepped through the doorframe and stood up straight. She felt like collapsing but instead she watched the many crumbs of glass her laps had worn clatter to the pavement. She looked down at her feet, specs of darkness on her light brown socks barely visible through the darkness. She rubbed her forehead when she saw that her legs and feet were sprayed with blood. Whether it was her own that had ran down from the wound on her shin, or the blood from the man she had stabbed. She twisted her hands and looked at her palms. They to were splattered in blood. She really was about to feint then when something kicked in. She didn't know where it came from but suddenly she began to run, away from the wrecked car, away from the horror.

When she reached the next block she sat at a bus stop and pulled out her cell phone. Her hands were shaky as she dialled the numbers.

"Dillan? This is Lilah." She said, in a weak, strained voice.

"Because I know you will help. I'm stuck. Yes. I would like a car to come pick me up. Please, I'd be very grateful. Telosa St. The bus stop. Ok, great thanks!" She turned the phone off and dropped it back into her jacket pocket. She could have screamed with irritation just then. She hated sucking up to people to get something. Needing something from somebody else was bad enough.

As she waited for the car she tried to decide upon her next course of action. She picked up the thick book she had placed beside her and opened it up. It smelled of dust and looked to be one of the most ancient books she had seen there. She had no idea what the words on the wall were for but she was beginning to think whatever was coming was coming soon. She felt that there were some trying to kill her and others trying to save her. She was worried about the implications of whatever was coming from the beginning. She was on a quest, and she knew nothing of where it would take her. She was scared but at the same time determined. Suddenly, out of the blue, she realised what she had to do. She was going to borrow Wesley for a little translation.

------------

"Ah! The good old Hyperion. Do you know how great it is to be back? Very. In a depressing kind of way really." Lorne burst into a flood of emotions as he stepped through the hotel doors behind Fred and Gunn. He stood on the stairs and just looked around the lobby for a while. Fred and Gunn walked down to the reception desk and watched him with glad smiles present. Lorne took a huge, deep breath of the Hyperion air then smiled contently. "I'll go unpack, get comfy. Don't worry Fred, I'm not going to sleep yet."

"You do that." Said Gunn, smiling and nodding his head. Gunn and Fred were both leaning against the reception desk as they watched Lorne lug his huge trunk up the staircase. As soon as he was out of sight Fred jumped around in front of Gunn, smiling joyfully. "It's so good to have him back isn't it?" They were both smiling and leaning closer to each other's face as they spoke. "Sure. But I could have managed with just you."

"Managed? Is that the best you can do?" She teased.

"Managed to love it." After this they were so close they could feel each other's warm, steady breaths. Fred leaned forwards and pressed her lips against his. They put their arms around each other as they kissed passionately. Their moment was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front doors swinging open. What they expected to see when they turned their heads was far from what they got. The front doors were wide open and In front of them stood Wesley, with Angel. Angel had his arm over Wesley' shoulder to help him stand. He still looked pretty delirious although his eyes were open and he sensed all that was happening. The door swung closed again as Wesley stared at Fred and Gunn in eachother'ss arm, a concealed feeling of resentment present. Fred quickly let go of Gunn and ran over to Angel. Gunn noted that she seemed to let him go for the sake of Wesley.

"Angel!" She had the most sincere look of joy on her face as she ran up to him. She helped sit him down on the grey couch in the centre of the room and looked into his dazed eyes. Gunn walked over with an equally happy smile. "What's wrong with him?" He asked Wesley, without looking him in the eye. "He's been under the ocean for days. It's played with his mind, the lack of blood, the pressure, it eroded his sanity." A panicked, saddened look flashed across Fred's face. She had gone from overwhelmingly relived and happy to overwhelmingly sad and disheartened in the space of a few seconds. "Wha" She tried to form the sentence her mind was giving her but her voice was weak and shaky. "It's only temporary. Provided he is treated correctly in the pivotal first day or so he will be fine."

Although slightly relieved at this, she was pained that Angel had gone through so much pain. This was undoubtedly the worst she had ever seen him. He looked so weak and deprived. Floods of emotions were running through her as she watched the tortured eyes of the champion before her.

"Hold on, what the hell do you mean ocean?"

"You're not going to like it." Before Gunn could reply to that Fred flicked her eyes to Wesley. Now she felt anger seeping into her thoughts.

"Tell us." She demanded harshly. Wesley and Gunn were slightly taken back by her sharp, strong comment.

"Conner, Justine. They captured Angel and dumped him in the ocean, sealed in a metal container." Wesley could see the sense of betrayal evident on both of their faces.

"That son of a bitch." Gunn said, sitting down beside Angel and shaking his head.

"Why did he do it?" Fred asked, her eyes looked intensely onto Wesley's.

"Holtz faked his death to make it seem like it was Angel who had killed him. You could imagine what Conner thought of that." Fred was getting madder and madder by the second. "Bastard! At least his dead."

"All that time he spent with us, it was all a lie. He hated the lot of us." Wesley looked at him unsympathetically then turned his attention back to Fred. "He'll need a lot more blood."

"You're not _going_?" Wesley cringed at this remark, fighting the temptation to stay. He couldn't, not yet.

"I've done all I can." And with that remark he turned his back to the inhabitants of the hotel, walking back towards the door. It was then that Fred noticed the bandage wrapped tightly around his wrists, or more so the thick colour of blood that had soaked through it.

"Bu" Gunn grabbed her wrist to stop her and whispered, "leave it Fred."

She swallowed her urge to drag him back. Her life seemed to have a crack in it when Wesley was not around. The door swung shut and Fred and Gunn turned their attention to Angel. Angel turned his head to Gunn. "Gunn." He spoke softly. "That's right bro, you're back." He smiled and thought of the strangeness of how only 1 hour ago he and Fred had no one. Now they seemed to be finding everyone, or at least they are finding them. He ignored the threatening questions of Conner and Cordy and relaxed with the knowledge that Angel was back.


	7. The Spaken Word

Hey everybody and thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing so far. I love a good review. This chapter is more of a long flashback, though it is still way shorter than the other chapters. Hope you enjoy, and, as always, would love to hear from you.

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 7- The Spaken Word

-------------

"I believe it was my father who taught me how to hate."

"It's not how we do the things we do that matters, it's what we do, what we achieve."

-------------

1792, Luxembourg.

A well dressed, silent, figure walked in small, condense circles, pacing impatiently. She waited in the empty centre of a city, beside a dry fountain. Beneath her delicate, pristine kept shoes, was a town square of well-laid cobblestones. As she waited unquietly screams of death and smoke of fire rose into the vast, empty night sky. She looked around at the abandoned houses and buildings and sniffed the potent aroma of death and destruction. Further down the main city street that ran through the town square she could see flames burning mightily. Cannons were erupting and guns were firing. She had unintentionally stumbled upon one of her favourite places to play, war. People in this part of the town had long since scampered into the hills, well, as far as they could get before being cruelly trapped behind steep cliffs, and impenetrable walls of stone. This whole city was a giant trap for mortals, she and Angelus would have wicked pleasure in draining it.

Darla walked onto the middle of the silent main street and watched down the straight road. She smiled at the havoc being caused and the vigorously burning flames reflected well on her harsh eyes. Suddenly, as she was peering into the distant flames, she spotted a dark, advancing figure emerge on to the main street. She saw his long mangled hair and his strong, confident stride. She saw Angelus. He was silhouetted against the fires at the bottom of the street and was quickly approaching her. She smiled and walked towards him slowly, her hard shoes barely echoing against stone beneath through the thick sound of war in the air. 

They went to each other and Darla looked up, passionately into is burning, lustful eyes, embraced in a loose hold. Angelus leaned down and kissed her passionately. Her smooth, refined skin against his rough, weatherd skin felt insanely beautiful to them both.

"You took your time." She said, bathing in the sweet orange glow of the fire that engulfed the city.

"Those Prussian's." Replied Angelus, smiling cunningly, "plus I got a little side tracked."

"Really?" She asked, softly, with a mischievous smile.

"Mm. Nothing like a slaughter to tempt me off my path."

"Then what luck that we chanced upon meeting here in this time of war."

"Indeed. A city rife with blood, lost innocence, destruction."

"Such a fitting place for our reunion. Come Angelus, let us bleed the soldiers, and harry the city. It is ours for the taking." Angelus was staring at the dancing flames reflected on the damp cobblestones. Darla looked doubtful when she realised he looked disappointed.

"Angelus?" He suddenly lifted his cruel gaze from the ground to Darla, a ruthless smile present on his face.

"Before we let ourselves upon the city I have business to see to."

"Business?" Darla asked with a confused look.

"Don't worry Darla, I'm sure it will live true to your expectations." She smiled again, relieved that Angelus was not intending to pass up a war for their playground.

"Who are we going to kill then?" Darla linked her arm through Angelus' and they walked down the street towards the dying city. Both feeling the glory of their existence, the power of their unity. Angelus and Darla.

"Is this the place then?" Darla looked up at Angelus beside her.

"This is it." Before them stood an ordinary English home, with a locked wooden door and boarded windows. They were after a priestess, or at least they thought they were. Angelus hadn't bothered to take notes. He had overheard of this priestess and where she lived and decided that, upon hearing her infamous strength, he would like to rip her throat open. His taste for blood had somewhat grown since the early days; he strived for something potent with power. He wanted blood that was worth a million dollars.

"Who gets to do the honours?" Asked Darla, hopefully.

"Me." He replied with a grin. Angelus stepped up the three steps before the door and stood in front of it or a while before swinging his leg back and knocking it to the floor. Darla stood at the bottom of the steps peering into the hallway as much as she could whilst ignoring the screaming people running down the road. 

Angelus smiled as he looked into the empty, tight hallway. There was a door branching t the left and a steep flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. Darla opted to wait outside and feast off some passing people. Angelus practically ignored her as he stepped over the felled door and into the hall. He heard frightened footsteps from above and smiled wickedly, placing his first step on the stairs. He paused to listen for footsteps. None came so he conquered the stairs slowly and stealthily, listening for any sign of his prey's location. He reached the top of the stairs and twisted into the small hall beside them. There were two doors to his right and one directly behind him. He stood his ground and felt for a presence in the air. At first nothing, then, a strong, warm heartbeat, a thick, warm breath, the poetic throbbing of the ambrosial blood as it pulsated through the body. It all came to him, he smelt it, sensed it in the air. Still smelling he stepped forward twice, then turned slowly and tauntingly toward the first door to his right. He put his head to it and smelt the fear. Slowly, he cupped his hand over the cold doorknob, turning it slowly and hauntingly.

All of a sudden and with less than no warning Angelus was blown off his feet, through the wooden railing behind him, and into the wall above the stairs. A gust of force, an invisible punch, had blown the door back into his face and sent him flying backwards with great power. Angelus smashed into the wall, sending grains and chunks of plaster into the air and leaving a great dent into the wall. He fell down onto the stairs and tumbled to the bottom. His entire body was in pain, as though being pulled in all directions at the one time and as he stood again, limply, a small gush of blood spurted out of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. The blast had hit him in the chest, so hard, that it must have shaken his organs drastically. He spat blood onto the stairs in front of him and walked shakily back up them. As he reached a certain height he peered into the door he had, just seconds ago, been about to open. A tall, slender women stood strongly in the open doorway. She looked beautiful with long, blonde, hair and elegant white robes that lay at her ankles. She had a pretty face, luscious lips, and a beautiful shape, clean, soft skin. Her eyes were items of assets of love, at least, at first glance. In the seconds Angelus got to stand he gazed deep into her soul through her eyes. What he saw was not love, nor passion, nor elegance. She seemed to have no human emotions at all, just an overwhelming purpose, aspiration that she lived for. 

Angelus felt the wave of force hit him again in the chest as she outstretched her arm and muttered a string of Latin words. He smashed and dented the wall once again but got his balance before tumbling down the stairs. This time he ignored the blood that ran from his mouth and jumped into action. After all, this is what he wanted, a fight. He picked up a large, broken fragment of the wooden railing he had previously smashed through and ran up the stairs sideways, holding the piece above his head at the ready. As soon as the priestess came into view he threw the wooden stake straight at her, with all his strength. The piece of wood cut through the air like a bullet and before the priestess even had time to see it it pierced her elbow, about 10-cm of it sticking out her back. Blood sprayed out from behind her as she was knocked back by its force and driven onto the bed behind her. She tripped over the end of the bed and collapsed on it. Her eyes and mouth were unmoving as she stared at the ceiling, in the corner of her vision Angelus jumped, hands outstretched, through the gap in the railing. She was stunned by the sudden pain and couldn't even bring herself to breathe as Angel us rolled onto his feet and strode menacingly towards her lying body. 

Suddenly the low humming noise she had felt in her mind cut off and the pain came rushing to her, with it, her senses. She shrieked and screamed with the pain, she felt the tears run down her cheeks and looked up at Angelus, that ugly smile spread across his face. Cringing, holding back the screams of pain and terror she grabbed the end of the wooden stake that was rammed through her shoulder. She felt a small glint of hope, and stopped her crying, pulling out the long piece of wood from her body. She felt every movement it made inside her as she ripped it out forcefully. She looked at it, horrified by the bloody mess it was stained with. Throwing it to the side she at up on the bed, ignoring her dizziness as the blood soaked her white robes and warmed her bare skin. She stood up in front of Angelus and watched in disgust as he looked straight into her eyes, licking his lips with the smell of blood.

She struggled to stand up let alone speak as her blood ran freely from her shoulder. Her vision was blurry but she had a mission, despite any pain, any loss, she would strive for it, and right now that meant staying alive.

"Angel." She said, knowing she would strike a nerve.

Angelus frowned." Name's Angelus."

"Not for ever."

"Look don't get all prophetic with me alright, I don't want to know with my future. I want to taste your blood." Her cold, hard expression did not change as he replied. He smiled and paced, casually around her. "I take it you're Asheara."

"You don't need to ask what you already know."

"Oh but it makes it all the more fun."

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"Why not whether huh? That's uncommon. Why do you want to live? Why do I want to kill? It is our desire, it's what we crave that drives us to do the things we do."

"I'll tell you now, because you need to know, if you kill me now, you'll have the blood of the world on your hands." He kept a strong glare as she said it; her voice was sincere and knowing. Angelus looked at her strangely, running over what she had just said. After a while he came to an answer.

"Now somehow, I don't think that matters to me." He said, walking closer, wanting to finish her off before she could talk further.

"But you will. You'll care a lot, and not just for your own life." At the mention of his own life Angelus halted in his swift stride towards her.

"Your saying that if I kill you I'll die?" Said Angelus, a suspicious glint in his eye.

"Of course, you along with everyone else. You enjoy killing people. Do you enjoying dying?"

"I'm already dead."

"Liam is dead. Angelus, you are alive and I'm sure you don't want to die."

"I don't think I like the fact that you seem to know everything about me."

"Of course I do, it's my job."

"What?" She didn't reply and they stared at each other harshly for about a minute. Angelus' thoughts were all jumbled and irregular; he hated that he was actually considering leaving this weak prey before him to live. He was supposed to be a ruthless killer, he had no mercy. Perhaps this was not a matter of mercy; it was a matter of fear. He could neither believe that he was in fear of a crippled woman's words. He couldn't think properly as he looked into Asheara eyes.

He grinded his teeth in anger and turned to leave.

"I'll be keeping tabs on you." He said as he walked out the door and down the stairs. Leaving the house, leaving his target for the first time in his life. He didn't know it was possible for him to do that, and if she was lying, well, he's already thought up a couple of thing to do about that. Back on the street he looked up at the house. People were running scared behind him but he ignored them, and Darla's attempts to call him over. He looked up at one of the boarded windows, deep in thought. He wiped the blood from his chin.

"We will meet again."

Back in the silent room Asheara, in her stained robes, fell to her knees in pain. Sobbing as she fell back on to her bloodied bed. She heard a thought, through the air, something unusual that wasn't supposed to be there.

"No, we won't."


	8. Interwoven

OK Guys, I'm back with the next chapter! Sorry about the last one if you got confused, it does relate heavily to the plot, trust me. My story might do that every now and then, when it does remember that you don't have to understand, just remember it then you'll get it later! Anyway, here's the next chapter, it's the longest one yet but I think it's pretty cool, more fast paced than usual. Everything I coming together and the story is going to be a fast ride from here on.

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 9- Interwoven

Conner's sharp, hard stare on the thick blackness before him was suddenly interrupted by a jarring sound of scraping metal and a flood of streaming light, as dim as it was. He turned his head to the open door, against the painful light stood two men. As soon as he heard one of their shoes on the concrete he knew it was Gavin, the taller one he presumed to be his bulky employee. Conner had spent the last 3 hours in relentless, gripping pain, his chest was heavily bruised and it hurt him to do so little as to breathe. Not only had he been wallowing in his own self pity for giving in to a knife to the chest but also he had been swimming in pain. The room was air conditioned so at least he had not run thin of air. Conner just stared at Gavin as he switched on the light switch and wondered over to his chair. Conner was frightened by the nervous and slightly angry face Gavin bore. As Gavin sat down and stared at Conner's bruised chest. Conner's shirt was still ripped in two down the middle. The other man stepped away from the doorway, walking over to the table and standing at the ready. Conner's mind began to rush as he picked up a bad feeling in the stagnant air. He could feel they were not happy towards him. The way Gavin was staring coldly and the man behind him was lurking at the ready. His heart began to beat slightly faster. Never in his life had he been in such a situation, trapped, unable to fight back. It was the worst thing he had ever felt. Sure, the thing with his father had hurt him terribly but Conner was used to hurt, and the revenge he thirsted for his father had changed his spirit, changed the way he saw things. He might have even enjoyed it.

Gavin took a deep breath and stood up again, looking straight into Conner's eyes. "Conner, you know I'm not happy." Conner tried to force a smile, to show that he was impervious to fear.

"Why should I care how you feel."

"That's pretty pathetic I'm afraid." Conner forced a weak, comic cough.

"Conner, I really did think you were telling the truth." Conner's eyes widened with shock. The realisation swept over him; they didn't find him.

"But you weren't."

"I wasn't lying. He's there." Gavin shook his head.

"We checked the entire vicinity. Nothing."

"It's the truth!"

"It looks as though you need to be re-acquainted with the dagger. I think you two will get along great, be _close _friends."

Conner's heart was pounding; the fear was taking control once again.

"Please I swear I didn't." Gavin just looked at his weary, terrified face and sighed. "Alright. Introduce them." He said, still looking at Conner, smiling as he heard footsteps coming from behind him. 

The man walked up to Conner, and, with a bored look on his face, slipped a small, gleaming dagger from his shirt pocket. Conner writhed to escape his hold, testing all the boundaries of his chains. The man whistled a haunting melody as he lowered the dagger to Conner's chest. Conner pulled himself backward against the wall. "Don't move" Said Gavin, watching intently.

The man swung back his arm and smashed it right into Conner's nose. His head was knocked against the wall and he screamed out in pain. The back of his head felt warm, and vividly painful. His head began to get faint, and he lowered it to face the ground. He felt blood trickle down his throbbing nose and weakly saw and heard it patter to the ground. Soon he was sick with the taste of it and the dark spots on the ground looked cruel and unreal. His eyes became wet with tears as he struggled with all the will he had to ignore the pain, scared he would soon whimper like a wounded dog. As his daze began to wear off the pain felt worse and worse, as though his head were being crushed and stabbed simultaneously. He spat some blood out of his mouth and watched as it splattered to the ground. Without warning the man grabbed his previously wounded hand and squeezed it. Conner threw his head to the side in a contorted manner, biting his lip to fend off the pain. He swallowed a yelp but at the same time let go of a tear, just a single stream of water rushed down his cheek and into his mouth, not tasted against the blood. The man ignored him and placed the dagger against his chest. Conner shivered at the feeling of cold, sharp metal, against his tendered skin Suddenly the man pressed harder, into the skin and carved downwards. Conner threw his head backwards and screamed to the roof. He felt every millimetre of the blade pass through his skin and the pain was overwhelmingly sharp and piercing. Suddenly the man took the knife off him and Conner swallowed blood as he saw the red-lipped blade and the warm trickles of blood that ran down his chest.

Gavin told the man to step back and walked right up to Conner, staring him coldly in the eyes. "WhereAngel?"

Conner struggled to keep his neck up and his gaze on Gavin. He stared right back into Gavin without reply. 

"I expected a little more endurance. You seem to be falling apart and we haven't even got started. I thought you had a penchant for pain." He had a cruelly pleased smile across his face.

"I have a penchant for inflicting it."

"Yeah, most killers don't want to die. You have the words of someone who knows not what he is doing."

"I'm just giving you a wider view. In return you can give me a wider knowledge."

"Why do you want to know anyway."

"Because knowledge is power. And I want power."

"Power is only as strong as the way you achieved it."

Just as Gavin opened his mouth to reply, a loud ring tone erupted into the tense air. It cut off his words and he simply smiled with a stare as he reached into his shirt pocket and slid a cell phone out of it, dropping the flap and pressing it to his ear.

The man who had been torturing Conner stepped back from him and stood in waiting. Conner silenced his breathing as best he could and tried to concentrate on the muffled voice egressing from the weak speakers to Gavin's ears. Gavin was looking at the blood on the floor as he listened but through the corner of his eye he spotted an intense look of concentration present on Conner's face.

Conner leaned forward, desperate to make out the words that drifted into the air. Through the painful throbbing recurring in his head it was extremely hard to force himself to listen. The constant pain became more and more consuming.

__

at.

Conner struggled hard and heard only three words. Fortunately he was good at putting things together; Lynwood must be coming to see him. He knew just how much Wolfram and Hart had wanted to get their filthy hands on him ever since he was a baby and now the boss wanted to see his prize. 

Through the severe pain and discomfort anger slowly began to rise up into Conner's thoughts. Dominating his emotions, bending his fragile mind to its will once again. He didn't care; anger could control him. His mind begged for it. Having blood on his hands was distraction for the pain he felt daily, the pain of regret and the pain of loss. He was weak willed and sought pain and means to deal it to substitute for the weakness he felt inside him. Revenge was his vessel. It carried him on his ride to death. Now these people had pained him, hurt him in ways beyond cuts and bruises. They had damaged his faint pride. Now vengeance was their hunter. Conner would kill them for the pain they caused him.

Conner had forgotten about listening now and just glared at Gavin, a piercing smile on his face.

"Ok. But can you jut hold on." Gavin smiled back at Conner and left the room, returning the phone to his ear as he left. 

As Conner waited, thoughts of vengeance passing the time, he stared at the patch of blood he had created beneath him. Suddenly Gavin came in again. He stopped, looking at Conner for a second, before turning to the man. "We're taking him upstairs."

"Alright" The man pulled a small pistol from the back of his belt and pointed it at Conner. Conner smiled as darts spat into his bloody chest. He saw the room go to a dark, hazy glow before becoming unconscious.

------------

"Angel. How you going?" Gunn stood back from the grey lounge and looked down at the slumped figure before him.

"Yeah, getting better."

"Need some more blood?" Asked Fred from behind the reception desk.

"Probably. But I sure as hell don't want it. Too much of that stuff can sicken you." Fred almost cringed at the weirdness of that comment.

"Good to have you back is all I can say." Added Gunn.

"Likewise. While you were gone it was terrible."

"Yeah. We were stretched just looking for _you_."

"He didn't return. Makes sense." Angel muttered softly to himself.

"What was that?"

"You needn't mind looking for Conner now."  
  
"Yeah. I can't believe that bastard did that to you." Replied Fred, making use of her hands by shifting paperwork and other documents.  
  
"To us." Said Gunn.  
  
"At least he had a reason, or thought he did." Angel replied, not sounding defensive, just acknowledging the fact that Conner was not just a heartless killer.

"News to me." Said Gunn.

"Yeah. Wesley didn't give us the complete picture."

"Holtz."

"I thought you said Holtz wanted Conner to stay with us." Fred said, sounding genuinely confused.

"Yeah, well, turns out he kinda lied."

"Damn! What's going on around here. Looks like a lot of people want you dead." Said Gunn.

"He had Justine kill him to frame me. Conner thinks I killed Holtz."

"So Holtz died a bitter old man, determined to seek revenge even in death." Fred said, after overcoming her reluctance to break the long reserved pause that followed Angel's words. The whole conversation was grinding Fred's happiness at Angel returning to the ground, she had had enough of hatred, revenge and betrayal. She was really sick of it; the only thing that kept her sane was the drive to repair things. She didn't know if Angel knew anything about what had happened to Cordelia but she hoped she did. She really didn't want any more heartbreak. She just couldn't take it.

"Hold on." Fred and Gunn bothered looked over to Angel as he said this. "Where are the others, Cordelia, Groo?" Finishing with a slight drop in enthusiasm  
Gunn and Fred both swallowed the silent air and retreated their eyes to the floor, neither wanting to tell Angel what had happened.

"Guys." Said Angel, pleading for some positive body movements, hoping to God that they weren't going to say what it looked like they were. Amid the retreated looks and silent breaths Angel felt an unwanted sense of fear tapping him harshly on the back. Their solemn looks told him very quickly though he was fighting to deny it.

"She's" Fred started, struggling to finish through Angel's sudden pained look at her.

"Gone." Gunn finished for her, his voice evidently full of resentment at having to say it.

Angel let out a despairing sigh, lowering his tormented eyes to the floor and staring deeply into its rich green. Somehow searching for comfort, longing for escapism from the sudden burning pain he felt deep down inside him. His heart sank. What was happening to him? As he being punished? What had he done? He had fought so hard to be happy with his son, with Cordelia, with everyone. He had achieved it for a few days of bliss, well, not quite. So cruelly did his days of happiness leave, his son, betrayed him, the one he loved, gone. For some reason he didn't feel shocked, in fact the whole time he had been back in the hotel it had been as though he had been waiting for someone to tell him, to break the solemn thoughts he bore.

"That's what Lorne left for." Said Gunn, after struggling through minutes of discomforting silence.

As suddenly as it had broke the room was once again befallen into a dejecting silence. Gunn frowned, his thoughts burdened by Angel's mournful expression, his broken gesture. A refreshing swing of the front doors brought Gunn back to his right mind. Angel didn't look up.

"Speaking of," said Gunn, with a relieved expression.

"Hey kiddos, how's he hanging?" Came Lorne's jovial voice, drifting blithely through the thick, icy mood of the room. Angel turned his head at the sound of his voice. Lorne looked taken back with the fierce mournfulness yet strong determination that was present on his face. In fact Angel's face was a screwed up bundle of emotions pulling from all sides. It was weary, heartbroken, angry and determined all in a single glance.

"Ahh. Angel is no longer hanging. Good news. How are you buddy?"

"What did you find?" Said Angel harshly. Lorne sighed.  
"Guess you two filled Angelcakes here in on what happened." Lorne received two nods from the background. "Lorne, let's skip the pre-information chit chat shall we? I've gotta find Cordy."  
"I know. But that doesn't necessarily mean I can do anything about it." Angel frowned.  
"I got nothing." Said Lorne, admitting his failure and sitting down on the steps.

Suddenly Angel got up. When he saw everyone staring at him disapprovingly he spluttered, "look, everybody, I know you're concerned and that'sgood but I'm fine. Really."

"I'm sure we'll find her Angel." Said Fred reassuringly.

"Yeah, me too. So, on the subject of Cordelia, I'm going out to get some info." Replied Angel, Straightening his coat.

"Off who exactly?"

"The one person I'm sure none of you have been desperate to ask."

"Wesley." Said Gunn, folding his arms and heaving an irritated sigh. Fred looked up from her office folders.

Angel walked towards the steps, and, with slight hesitation turned back to the group of people, Lorne being beside him on the steps.

"Wesley did a good thing guys. Whatever he and you have between each other is out the window while we look for Cordy. Personally I think I'm ready to forgive." With that Angel barged through the doors, leaving them swinging on their hinges.

"Great, now what are we gonna do?" Asked Gunn, looking over to Fred, who had put her papers down.

"I guess we return to normal." Fred said.

"Hmm, yeah, normal, without vision girl I don't think so."

"Well we have to try." She looked over to the phone, "at least we have the phone."

Gunn sighed again. Lorne looked up, frowning at the hotel, trying to work out how he would fit in this grand new scheme of things.

Lilah strolled briskly up a dank, steel stairwell, faintly lit by small lights on the tainted concrete walls. As she climbed her phone rang, shocking amongst the eerie silence of the place. Her heart jumped and she sighed with relief at the comforting ring tone.

"Hello, this is Lilah Morgan" she said, putting it lightly to her ear. She was no longer climbing the stairs. 

--

"Lilah, it's Gavin." Said Gavin, walking swiftly down a crowded Wolfram and hart hallway. Swiftly avoiding the passing crowds of stuffy business people. He came to a light, bronze-coloured wooden door.

--

"Gavin? I'm giving you three seconds to give me a reason not to hang up on you."

--

Gavin burst through the doors, walking swiftly into the suave office that lay before his eyes. The shelves were neatly kept and packed with sleek looking decorations and archaic pieces. Lilah's computer remained on, it's screen burning white in the comfortable lighting.

"I've got some news for you."

--

Lilah sighed in defeat. "Alright fire away, but make it quick, I have an appointment."

--

"Lynwood's coming back." Gavin said, sliding open Lilah's desk drawers and shuffling through them. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

--

Lilah frowned. "Why are you telling me this."

--

"He wanted me too."

--

Her soul was beginning to sink. If Lynwood returned then she would not only have to worry about her life and learning about the apocalypse but she would have to have her job on the line.

"Why is he coming back early? He's due a fortnight from now."

--

"Something came up."

Gavin's heart leaped as he raised a thick wad of papers from the drawer. 'Leave Initiative Report' was written in bold black letters across the top. He chuckled. This was supposed to be Lilah's ticket to praise and promotion. His mood swung slightly when he began to wonder why she would have left it there; he knew Lilah was smarter than that.

--

Lilah gulped when she heard the uncanny enthusiasm present in his voice. "Alright, what came up? Also, why the hell do you sound so happy?"

--

Gavin's smile broadened with pleasure. Now who was on top? That bitch thought she could outmatch him, the fool.

"I guess I could tell you. Do you really want to know?" He said as he pulled the screwdriver he had got from technical stores out of his pocket. He walked over to Lilah's computer and flipped it over to its bottom.

--

"Gavin, don't waste my time."

--

Gavin smiled again as he extracted the final screw and dropped it to the desk. He pulled the bottom off the computer and peered inside.

"OK then. I have captured Conner and am presently deleting your initiative report." He spoke with great satisfaction and pride.

He pulled out the hard drive of the computer and walked quietly over to one of Lilah's shelves.

--

Lilah shivered with a meshed feeling of anger and fear. Anger at herself and anger at the stupid whining bastard, Gavin. She should have known after giving him the intimidation treatment he'd go psycho. He was like one of those short people who never let things go and always strive to become taller than others through power. She was angry with herself as well. How could she have been so stupid, in this whole rush she had completely forgotten about Gavin and Lynwood. And now Gavin was deleting the only thing she would have to show. Top that off with the fact that Lynwood has been out to get her for months and her career didn't look good at all. Still, she sensed something slightly off about her reaction and after standing in the stairwell in silence for about 5 seconds she began to realised she didn't really care. Ever since the girl in the white room had spoken to her she had thought of Wolfram and Hart as a resource, not the other way around.

Suddenly this feeling began to consume her fears. Still, she was angry, even if she was not afraid of Wolfram and Hart, they were essential to whatever was coming. They were a resource she needed.

"Shit! Gavin you son of a bitch, leave it. I'm warning you."

--

Gavin placed the drive on her wooden shelf and picked up a heavy, flat bottomed, pyramid-shaped antique, smiling with a cruel smile of gratification and contempt.

"Yeah, only your warning means nothing to me any longer."

Gavin brought the pyramid down onto the drive with all his might, pleasured by the crushing noise that rung in his ears. Bits of the hard drive flew into the air and rolled across the shelf.

--

Lilah cringed as she heard a dismaying crunch clearly through the phone. The little bounces and clatters of pieces ringing unsparingly in her ears.

--

"You underestimated me Lilah. If you still think you can win, bringon."

And with those last words Gavin executed the call and left the office with the thick bundle of papers in his hands, closing the door softly behind him. He felt great. Beating his competition so proffessionaly and achieving so much in the span of a day gave him a tranquil ride, untouchable by Lilah. He was on easy street now.

--

"Gavin!" She heard the phone cut off but took no notice, hoping desperately that Gavin was still there and not even really paying attention to anything else. She calmed herself and listened to the dead tone for a little longer before turning to the stairwell and throwing the phone down the small gap between the curving stairs. She banged her hands fiercely against the metal railing. And watched the phone drift towards the inevitable collision. The satisfying crack of the phone hitting the concrete lightly soothing her rage. After a few minutes of admiring the shattered mess on the floor below Lilah resumed her, now swift, assent up the stair well.

She stopped, relieved, as she spotted the number '5' on the wall beside a corridor. She branched off the stairs and made her way down the dark, decrepit corridor. She spotted unmoving, silent figures hunched up at the very end of the corridor; she spotted them slightly blacker than the black of the hall. She knew that she would be perfectly visible to them, even if the light behind her was weak. She made a mock salute sign and saw a few of the figures lowering grasped menacing objects. She smiled.

__

Good, everything is going to plan.

Now ignoring the gun bearing shadowed figures she walked up to a grotty white door with the numbers '59' fastened heedlessly to it. She was impressed with the soldiers she had hired, now, in the pure silence, not even their breaths reached her ear. She raised her hand a knocked twice on the door. She heard cautious footsteps from behind the door, and soon she saw an eye appear in a small, recklessly punctured hole in the door. The eye looked around warily.

"Wesley, stop screwing around and open the door."

The eye disappeared and, after a loud click, the door swung inwards. Wesley stood, leaning against the doorframe and looked at Lilah curiously.

"Why, I assume that's why you came. I'd think screwing around is exactly what you have on you agenda." Lilah smiled with a patronising affection.

"Wow. You've really got me in a nutshell."

"Not bearing gifts I see."

"What. You got a toll now? Don't get too high on this Wes. You get just as much from as I do from you."

Wesley kept an oblivious, aroused smile all the while. "Come in." He said, turning around and stepping forward, watching Lilah in the window in front of him, waiting for her to step froward seductively, waiting for her to jump back into their little song. He knew the lyrics.

Instead, to his absolute shock she stepped forward slowly then whipped something from her back pocket and took a swift charge at Wesley, her pointed weapon raised, ready to strike the back of his neck. He could see he clearly in the window, and all though very hard to from a backwards vision, he predicted where the, now clearly syringe, she held would strike his neck. Decisively he swung back his arm and grabbed for Lilah's wrist, making sure that he had enough force to stop the needle's decent. He clasped tightly around her wrist and turned to face her. She stood before him, stunned by the outcome, her syringe-bearing wrist held tightly by Wesley's. Lilah finally got over it and screamed loudly. Wesley frowned with confusion at the whole situation, until, suddenly a group uniformed men barged into the room, yielding aimed Guns. Lilah was trying to drug her; he already knew this but he wasn't expecting her to be so thoroughly prepared for failure. His heart began to beat faster. What on Earth could she want this for, his mind raced but suddenly he knew he had to comply, no more thinking, just conformance. But suddenly an idea popped into his head.

__

The memory of tucking a small, folded note flashed vividly through his mind. He had given it to him so that he could be told information regarding Cordelia. He would probably be on his way now. And, of course, he had fed Angel his blood, according to his sources for vampire mythology it should remain vividly in his mind forever.

Quickly, Wesley swung his other arm behind his back and grabbed one of the daggers that were held by his belt. Before anyone else had time to react he sliced towards Lilah's wrist.

---

Driving a long a wide and relatively empty road, Angel revved his engine and, feeling the fresh night air blow fiercely into his face sped down the open road. It felt great to his sunken thoughts, to concentrate on everything else forcing its way into his mind. He was heading towards Wesley's house when, suddenly a memory cut into his breezy thinking. He remembered, very vaguely, Wesley shoving something in his shirt pocket. As he thought about it he felt it through his damp shirt. He pulled out the small, folded piece of paper and unfolded it. His eyes darted across the paper.

__

59 

33 Evan's Ave.

He smiled. Wesley must have known the first thing he'd do was look for Cordelia. He didn't know why Wesley had moved location but he turned a right and headed for Evan's Ave.

--

A vivid streak of, dark, rich blood splattered across the floor below him. Wesley felt the unforgiving rush of pain as his knife had slashed across his skin. He had struck down with a precise swiftness, causing the blood to hit the floor loudly. He had no time to watch his hand drip with blood as the men surrounding his front had raised their rifles and looked on the edge, enforcing compliance with harsh, fearful glances, and ominously cocked rifles. Before they had time to shoot or do anything rash he released his grip on the bloody dagger, letting it fall to the ground with a clang. Lilah had retracted her arm the very second Wesley had cut deeply across his palm and released his grip. Wesley swallowed his pain and eyed the room. He stared dead strait at Lilah, who was still standing in front of him. She looked away slightly, so that their eyes just avoided contact. After moments of staring she looked back, now smiling, her face devoid of remorse or regret. Wesley had been a fool to trust her. Well, he never really trusted her; he just didn't see her as a threat. However angry he was with her, it was obvious that she didn't want him dead, therefore she must want him for something. It was strangely eager to discover what she needed from him.

The eerie sound of blood dripping was distracting and haunting as Lilah opened her mouth to speak.

"Wesley, I don't want to hurt you"

"You just want to use me." Wesley finished, smiling.

"Well done! You always were quick on the uptake though. Still, I bet you can't guess what I want to use you for." As soon as she stopped speaking she turned to one of the men behind her and told him to search Wesley for any more weapons. Wesley ignored the apprehensive man who approached cautiously and began to pat around his body for weapons. Wesley raised his hands as the man filed up his body, feeling his sides.

"Lilah. You know me, if this is interesting enough I'll come willingly. There is no need to keep me in chains."

The man swerved around behind Wes and pulled the second dagger from his belt, picking up the first as he retreated to his position.

"I couldn't take that chance, Wesley."

"You'll miss me."

"First I gotta find out whether I've got time to miss you."

Wesley's brow curved. "Wha"

"Let's go." Said Lilah, decisively. Two of the men walked behind Wesley and kept their guns at secure aim as Lilah gestured toward the door. Wesley and the two guards behind him were the last to leave.

The long journey down the stairs was irritating. Wesley wanted to get to whatever Lilah wanted him to do. Being marched around was not his ideal way to travel and every second suspecting eyes were peeled to his every move. Finally they reached the bottom, Lilah was leaving and Wesley saw her glance to the side before she swung open the door and stepped outside. Wesley scanned were she looked before and saw a small object lying in the middle of the concrete space. He squinted, now looking backwards and saw that it was a mobile phone. Now that they were on the concrete he saw the trail of blood he had left behind him and it still dripped methodically, a silent rhythm as he felt the trickle of blood roll down his hand.

Before he knew it he was outside once again, still closely dogged by the men behind him. A Black van pulled up in a strangely vacant parking spot. Lilah swung open the passenger door and stepped in, slamming it behind her. As he neared the van one of the men swang open the two back doors and he, along with the others hopped in. Wesley was shunted into the back and the men behind him closed the doors. He noted how professionally and efficiently that these men worked. He looked around at the silent, unmoving faces and, after receiving no sign of conversation retreated his head to the floor. Staring in thought. Although he felt a strange excitement he was glad, and quite proud of his plan. Hopefully the trail of blood should, at the very least, let Angel know he was in danger. It was kind of strange how that plan had kind of become conveniently available to him. Also he wondered about the mobile phone he had spotted on the floor. It had snagged Lilah's attention in an unusual way. He didn't even really think about the sudden choice Lilah had made to betray him like that. Although he noted how easy it had seemed to be for her.

----

Angel drove up the crowded street, his mind in overdrive trying to figure out the exact place he was looking for. Suddenly he saw a vacant car space and swerved into it from the clogged traffic. He mused its convenience. The air no longer blew comfortingly through his hair; the night air was warm and thick with noise and disruption. 

He sighed and stepped out of the car and, upon looking at a shop, realised that he was virtually standing upon his target's doorstep. Walking down the street a short way, he paused at a moderately high, old, concrete building. He stared upwards, at the looming top of the imposing building, noticing how it stuck out against the night. He walked towards it, knowing that this was the place without the slightest of proof, it seemed to be the logical to find Wesley in his current state of mind. He walked into the doors, swinging them open and strolling casually into moderately large room, in the back corner there was an entrance to a stairwell. Angel stepped through and was daunted by the dank, unwelcoming feeling he felt. Suddenly something else popped into his thoughts. Something that, just then, he realised he had felt for a while, ever since he pulled up to the street. Amidst the thick collection of smells on the street, within this still air it was potent. It was blood, he smelt it vividly now; the more he mused the more it struck him, Wesley's blood. Now he could taste thickly in his mouth. He looked up in realisation. Wesley had fed him. He must have been forgone. Nonetheless he was even less resentful towards Wesley now, assured of the lengths he would go for forgiveness. Angel approached the foot of the stairs, beginning to see the dejecting spots of blood, trailed down the steps. 

Angel suddenly began to dawn on the fact that what he could be facing is an emergency. Of course the blood could have been from Wesley's self-inflicted wound to save him. But somehow it seemed different. He doubted Wesley would be that careless. Angel erupted into a brisk stride, then a hasty jog, before finally breaking out into a sprint. He conquered the stairs quickly, watching each step disappear beneath his feet and smelling the strong trail of blood. He abruptly halted, no longer needing instructions he broke off from the stairs, sprinting towards a specific door down the dark hall. He skidded to a halt and looking down, observed the blood that lead to the door. Controlling the urge to bust down the door he knocked twice. Fidgeting widely as he waited for an answer. None came. He breathed in and stepped back from the door, coming at it with a sudden charge, lifting his leg and aiming the soul of his shoe to the centre of the door. His leg was thrown back from the door and so was he. Standing up once more he brushed off the dust that had stained his jacket. The door He must have gone through the barrier, now aware that he had completely neglected to realise that he could not even so much as put a foot or a finger through that door. Nonetheless he was staring through a thin blanket of floating debris from the door. The door itself lay flat on the floor.

What lay before him was a foul sight to see, saying the least. In the centre of the room lay a thickly blood coated dagger, amidst a small puddle of blood. He looked to the right and saw the black marks of sprayed blood covering the floor, almost to the wall. He looked to the left to see a dagger deeply embedded into the wall, its handle pointing menacingly towards him. The apartment itself was not too bad though; he mused, looking straight out the large lounge windows at his city, engulfed in the night. His quick reflection ended suddenly as he realised what he had to do. He had to find Wesley. He turned and sprinted back the way he came.

Diving off the last three steps he grabbed the door handle. Suddenly though, before he had time to yank open the door and go sprinting away he heard a ringing noise. He swivelled round, searching for the source of the echoing ring tone. Suddenly, a small object in the shadows of the stairs above it sagged his glance. He ran over to it, determined to get to it before he missed the call. It felt odd that he cared so much about it, something though, something made him feel it had to be done. He grabbed it, then, shocked as it practically crumbled in his hands; he struggled to keep it together. Surprised that it actually still worked he placed it to his ear. The phone continued its incessant ringing. Angel rolled his eyes as he held it in front of him and fumbled for the button that would answer the call. "They have to make everything so damn complicated."

He pressed the button and snatched it to his ear. Whoever was on the other end began explaining something without Angel's reply.

"Lilah. This is Dylan. It's about your report. Gavin pu" Angel hang up as soon as he could after he heard the name, Lilah. Angel dropped the phone again and it clattered across the ground, shattering and leaving small bits of debris. Lilah had been here, from what he could conceive that either meant she was involved in whatever had transpired, or she was a victim like Wesley. Angel smiled, he was pretty certain he knew where to find Wesley, Wolfram and Hart.

Well there it is at 6049.


	9. Proclaimation

Hey everyone! OK, really sorry for the time delay, not writer's block, promise, just a couple of technichal delays. This means I've got the next two chapters done and will put them up on a weekly basis again! Thanks for all the reviews so far! Keep 'em coming! Hope you like, this is kind of a set up chapter for the next one, which I've decided to slit into to because it's a huge climaxy one!

Apocalypse Nowish-Chapter 9. Proclamation.

Conner slowly felt himself fade back into reality. As his daze wore off his vision became less distorted and Hazy and his mind began to act on the blurred figures and objects he saw melded into the background. He saw a dark figure right in front of him and a comfortably lit room with a table in the centre and a couple of other men standing idly around. He blinked a couple of times and began to see more clearly, the blurry shapes became people. He looked up at the man in front of him. It was Gavin, looking down at him, smiling joyfully. Conner felt the hatred flow through his body, waking his mind and body. He felt the chains around his hands and feet again now; he also felt the burning pain that had left him in his sleep. His chest stung fiercely and the bruises gave weight to his lungs. Conner now felt wide-awake, and was sneering harshly. Gavin smiled, indifferent to Conner's every action.

"Hello again." He said.

"Yeah, hi." Said Conner, mockingly, amused by his approach.

"Soon, you're going to have a visitor."

"Great, I'll put the kettle on." Gavin smiled and nodded at his reply.

"The visitor in question isn't really interested in tea." He said, amused.

"I was making Coffee." Conner retorted bluntly. Gavin let out a small, respectful laugh.

"He's interested in _you_." He said, leaning in closer and tapping Conner mockingly on the chest. Conner cringed with pain.

"Well I'm not interested in him so why don't you shut up about it!" He retorted, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice.

One of the silent men from the background of the office stepped forward and, without so much as an approving nod from Gavin punched Conner right in the side of the face. Conner swallowed his scream in a desperate effort to be brave against the searing pain. His ear had been crushed and rang loudly in his thoughts, also sending jolts of pain into his already shaken head. Suddenly, as Conner was shaking his head wearily Gavin's office phone rang loudly. Gavin smiled, hinting that he hated being interrupted.

He walked over to the phone and placed it to his ear. He was nodding for a while, listening intently until he replied. Conner once again tried to lean fourth and listen. He heard the name Lynwood'. Suddenly it came back to him; his visitor was to be Lynwood. The guy he had met before at that movie place. Lynwood must be Gavin's boss.

"Already? That was quick. Right now? OK then, yeah, I'll meet him outside."

Gavin hung up. He walked over to the other guys, muttering instructions, before staring back into Conner's eyes.

"I just hate getting interrupted like that." Conner was silent. 

"At least it was for a good reason. My boss is coming back Conner, and he's going to love you."

Gavin remained staring into his eyes until he suddenly broke off and strode briskly out of the room. Conner was left in silence, his every move followed by three pairs of cold, dutiful eyes. He looked around at the, sleek, modern office he was in. He was against the wall and in front of him was a large, black-glass table, a chair at either head. The men were hanging around behind the table, leaning against the walls and admiring some of the ornaments atop glass shelves. To his left was a giant window that was the entire wall. To his right was the bronze coloured, wooden door. He turned his rueful eyes to the windows and watched the unmoving blackness that engulfed the sea of lights.

---

Gavin powered through the maze of halls on his floor, winding briskly towards the lift. He swerved past a corner. Ahead of him a door was swinging shut; it closed silently. Still walking, Gavin smiled cruelly, enjoying imagining Lilah's bad tempered reaction to her crushed hard drive.

---

Lilah closed the door softly behind her. Wesley had already made his way to a pre-positioned chair beside her desk. She turned around and looked down at him. He was bound tightly by handcuffs but he wasn't her prisoner, and he knew it. In fact, he didn't look the least bit worried; he lay back, comfortable and relaxed, apparently oblivious to everything that had just happened. Most surprisingly he seemed excited, sought of aroused by the latest turn of events. She guessed he looked for whatever could substitute for the pain he felt. Now they were by themselves; Lilah wanted no one to hear the story she was about to tell Wesley, and she hadn't truly convinced herself that even that was a good idea. In some strange, twisted way, Wesley seemed to be the only one she could trust. And she even knew that Wesley did not hold much trust in her. Then again he hadn't much trust in anyone, himself included.

During the silence that followed, Lilah strolled over to her shelves when she noticed an oddity. She rolled her eyes as she saw her hard drive smashed and strewn carelessly across the shelf and the floor. How pathetic. She realised now that she couldn't care less about her job at Wolfram and Hart, and although she never would have realised, in all her years of hard work, she wanted it out of the way. Sighing impatiently she nodded sympathetically, and turned back to Wesley who was sitting back, checking out her office. Finally, after another awkward moment of silence, Wes spoke. 

"Well done Lilah, you've captured me." He said, sarcastically.

"Yay me. Let's break open the champagne in celebration."

Wesley smiled cunningly at her.

"I'll take off the cuffs." She said, reaching into her jacket pocket.

Wesley let out a short, sharp laugh. Lilah looked over to him to find him dangling the undone handcuffs from between two fingers. She smiled warmly. He wasn't stupid.

"You could have escaped."

"Well, putting our shag-a-thon at risk, I figured you'd have something miraculously important to tell me."

"I'm that desperate am I?"

"Yes." Lilah was slightly broken by his sharp and harsh remark.

"Well, as a matter o' fact, I do have something to tell you. Then I want you to tell me something."

Wesley looked slightly puzzled, deep in guessing what it might be. After a pause, Wesley replied.

"Well, fire away."

"OK Wes, first things first, I've been through this an awful lot in my head and I have to know." Wesley nodded, egging her on. "Why did you cut yourself back in the apartment?"

Wesley smiled again, as though he was playing the best game. "I missed. How about we discuss why you charged at me with a syringe?"

"You missed?" She retorted, sounding scarcely fooled.

"Yeah, I acted foolishly in the heat of the moment and slashed at your wrist. Obviously without the desired effect." Wesley looked down at his palm; they were stained with dried rivers of blood. He looked over at his other, bandaged hand. He was really in quite a state.

"And the other wound?" Asked Lilah.

"Battle wound."

"Right. Down to business I guess." Wes leaned forward in his chair, bracing for intense listening.

"All of a sudden, today, I've been thrown into this elusive mystery. First of all, the girl in the white room," Wes raised an eyebrow, " oh yea, Angel wouldn't have filled you in, huh? By the way where is my broody buddie?" Wesley made it clear she wouldn't receive an answer. "Right, anyway. She told me some ominous, prophetic speech thing"

"Tell me what she said." Wesley interrupted.

"OK. She basically said I was a wolf, and, um from the seventh day every sacrifice counts, no, brings us closer, that was it."

"_A_ wolf?"

"No, yeah, she said I was _the_ wolf. Why?" Wesley shook his head so she continued. "Then, from Gwen downstairs," Wesley looked up, confused, "files and records." He nodded. "She gave me an address and I drove there. I spent hours there trying to find something, anything relating to what the girl had said."

"And?"

"And then this is where it gets weirder, and slightly scarier than usual. This black writing suddenly appeared on the wall. It said that I was in danger and that I had to grab a marked book and run. Sure enough, five seconds later, I hear a blood curdling scream from downstairs and then heavy footsteps on the stairs. They were coming up. So I searched frantically for the _marked _book and found it."

Wesley looked up; it was obvious what he was going to ask.

"I haven't finished just yet. I found the book, and to my own amaze I managed to escape through a window before whatever was coming managed to inflict any grave bodily harm upon me. As I got up the street, he started to follow me. I didn't get a good look of him until I was driving away. He clearly had otherworldly powers because he was slicing through the steel bonnet though it was wet paper. He was exactly normal, in a kind of strange way. He seemed, I don't know, a little too weird or something." Wesley frowned.

"Now what is really creepy about these guys is just that, they're _guys_ not guy. They looked exactly the same, that one and the one that attacked me later." A moment of silence passed before Lilah let out a huge sigh of relief.

Wesley looked up at herwarmly. "Well, you certainly did a good job of not being killed." She smiled.

"Well, what can I say? Something came over me."

"This certainly does sound interesting, and most definitely important." He said, sincerely.

"If the girl in the white room starts talking like that then you know it's important." She replied. Wesley nodded.

"From what you've said I gather you require me to translate the text in that _marked _book of yours."

"Yep."

"Why not use the extensive resources made available to you buy the good people at Wolfram and Hart?"

"Well, let's just say my job isn't really in a state of security, also you're the only person I could trust at the moment." Wesley looked slightly complimented; he wasn't really expecting that.

"Surely you of all people would know that every word uttered under this roof is recorded and monitored."

"Oh come on, give me some respect. I had a fellow colleague help me out."

"Gavin?" Lilah let out a small laugh at this.

"Not that kind of colleague." she replied. Wesley smiled. During a short pause Lilah sat down on her desk, facing Wesley.

"Well, where's the book then?" Said Wesley after a short while of admiring Lilah. Lilah smiled somewhat appreciatively and picked up the phone beside her. She wedged it between her ear and shoulder and dialled a number. Wesley waited, listening with mild interest but mostly putting his brain to the limit trying to consider all she had told him.

"Hi Dylan. Yes, it's me, Lilah. What do you mean? I didn't hang up on you. Oh well, that's beside the point, I need you to bring in the book I left with you. What? Yeah, I'm aware of what Gavin's been up to. Ok great, my office."

Lilah looked back over to Wesley and tapped her fingers on the hard surface of her desk, waiting impatiently.

---

"So, you really tried full on and found nothing, huh?" Asked Gunn, standing behind the reception and leaning casually over it, looking over to Lorne who was sited next to Fred on the lounge.

"That's pretty much the gist of it, yeah." Replied Lorne, looking solemnly to the ground.

"It's OK Lorne." Said Fred, patting him gently on the back.

"It's not OK if we don't find Cordy." He replied.

"Well," said Gunn, looking slightly confident," Angel seems to have his heart on it and he's the kind a guy who won't give up."

"Yeah," agreed Fred, "We will find away, anyway contacts are never reliable."

"Unless you're looking for useless advice," Gunn reminded her.

The silent gap in the conversation was suddenly interrupted by the hotel door bursting open. Gunn looked up and Fred and Lorne looked back over their shoulders. Angel stood in the doorway, with a hardy, slightly angry, determined look on his face. He swung his arm up and releases his grip on a set of keys. They flew through the air and landed placidly in Gunn's opened palms, as though it had been a carefully rehearsed ritual. Gunn smiled, "how'd it go?"

"I need my car back." Said Angel, ignoring the slightly disappointed sigh that came from Gunn. He walked down the stairs and to the reception desk; he leaned against it, looking out at Fred and Lorne with Gunn beside him, behind the desk.

"Well, how'd it go?" Said Fred, in an odd nervous tone.

"He wasn't there."

"I knew it," said Gunn," we checked over at his place during the search quite a few times, he was definitely gone though."

"He lives somewhere else. He gave me a note when he was taking me back, he also said to see him for information regarding Cordelia."

"So he knows something?" Gunn rose to his feet as he said it, looking disgraced.

"Why didn't he tell us?" Fred filled in. Gunn opened his mouth to add to that when Angel cut him off.

"Look guys, it doesn't matter why Wesley has been doing the things he's been doing, right now, I just want to focus on getting things back to the way they were. That means finding him and finding Cordelia. Well, and also my car of course"

"What about" Fred began to inquire.

"Don't worry Fred, Conners will get what's coming to him, he'll just have to wait."

"So, hang on, you said you got Wes' new address but he wasn't there. Just out?"

"No, he wasn't just out. I stumbled across his apartment to find daggers imbedded in walls and the flood stained with his own blood, which also happened to trail out of the building."

"What do you think happened?"

"Well, guess what else I found." The rest of them looked up expectantly.

"Lilah's mobile phone." Gunn nodded and the other two looked up.

"You think Lilah's captured Wesley." Said Lorne, without a hint of shock in his voice.

"Why would she want to" Fred, once again, began to inquire.

"Hmm, let's think, Wolfram and Hart have lost three major players, naturally, wanting to find them they target the one isolated from the others." Said Gunn.

"Wesley." Finished Fred, looking remorseful.

"Bingo."

"So, do you think you know where he is?" Asked Fred, looking over to Angel hopefully.

"Well, something apart from the sheer stubbornness of Lilah tells me he's being held right there, in Wolfram and Hart." Replied Angel.

"You're planning to break in to Wolfram and Hart aren't you?" Said Lorne, in disbelief.

Gunn smiled and Angel couldn't help a small grin. "It's been done before, we'll just do it again." Said Gunn, beaming with pride and excitement.

"You mean you fellas have actually pulled it off before?" Answered Lorne, his jaw looking as though it would drop in awe. Fred was looking over at Gunn, her face shone with respect for him. He snuck a sly grin back and her smile widened.

"Well, yeah, but we kind of had a whole inside job thing going back then." Admitted Angel.

"Oh." Said Lorne, looking slightly less impressed.

"C'mon Angel, we can do it, I had a ball last time." Gunn was grinning, feeling all fidgety with the hope of some real excitement. It was as if, all of a sudden, having Angel and Lorne back had just hit him. He would no longer have to wake to an endless repetitive search. It would be a search, but it would be fun and he was up to it. He wasn't sure how he felt about Wesley though, he would just have to wait and see how he would fit back in.

"Who's up for it? I'm pretty convinced this is our only way to get Cordy back and I owe Wes a great big _one._"

The lot of them smiled warmly and nodded unanimously.

"Alright," said Angel, getting a real strength back into his voice, "we're gonna break in and rescue Wes."

---

Gavin walked past the tired, sheepish reception and out of the lobby through the big glass doors. As they slid open silently, his body, face and mind were met with the cold, fresh wind of the night. He stood in the middle of the doors and looked down the huge stepped path that led straight down to the road. There was not a soul to be seen pardoning a couple of people waiting beside the curb down the bottom of the stairs. He left the doors before they closed on him and began his slow descent. He walked with pride and an unusual touch of self-importance, listening to the vivid sound of his shoes on the hard pavement. He reached the curb, greeting the two men with an outstretched hand. They took his hand out of pure respect but he could tell they were irritated by the obligation. They were both dressed well and stood straight, waiting sternly for the car. Just after Gavin began to shiver from the cold he noticed a pair of headlights slow to a halt, suddenly a great black limo stretched before him. It stopped, and, without the engine shutting off one of the doors swung open. A friendly, respective looking man stepped out and walked over to another door, right in front of Gavin. Gavin stepped back and allowed the man to gently open the door. Lynwood stepped out from the seat, stretching his legs with a tall posture. Lynwood stepped forward towards Gavin. The door was closed gently behind him and the man retreated to his own door. The limo slithered silently into the night from which it came.

"Gavin. I'm actually pleased to meet you." Gavin took Lynwood's outstretched hand apprehensively, dampened slightly by the insertion of the word actually, and the fact that they had met before on numerous occasions. Lynwood walked over to the two other men and thanked them for coming, apologising for the wait. Lynwood began to climb the path, gesturing for the others to follow. They did, but Gavin was beginning to feel extremely frustrated at being completely ignored by Lynwood's gaze, he had expected a warm welcome followed by a sincere approval.

--

Silence crept menacingly over Lilah's office once again. Whenever there was no sound to distract stray thoughts the air between Lilah and Wesley was as thick as stone. They looked around tensely looking for something to take their eye off one another.

Finally the thick silence was broken when the door handle twisted and the door swung open. Lilah and Wesley looked up to see Dylan standing in the doorway, holding a thick book in his arms. He walked forward, his glance ever so often flicking over to Wesley sitting in his chair. Wesley could imagine the sight he would be to others. His face looked beaten and cuts littered his arms; he looked rugged and cold. Dylan walked up to Lilah and placed the book into her hands.

"There it is." He said, cheerfully.

"Thanks Dylan, for the lot."

"Sure, no problem, you can rely on me."

There was a silence and both Lilah and Wesley peered up at him, waiting for him to leave. Dylan didn't leave; he turned his attention to Wesley and walked over to him. Dylan offered his hand. "You must be the infamous Wesley Wyndham-Price."

Wesley stared strangely at his hand until it was withdrawn. Dylan looked slightly alienated by Wesley actions.

"I'm infamous?" Asked Wesley, after a while, a grin starting to form across his hardened face.

"In my books you are." Dylan replied.

"Well, Dylan, I take it, nice meeting you."

"Yeah, it's Dylan. See you Wesley, later Lilah." He nodded accordingly then strode officially out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Wesley gave a small laugh and stared pitifully at the door. Lilah grinned.

"He's a good guy." She informed him. Wesley looked up, a comical expression on his face.

"As far as evil lawyers go you mean?" He asked.

"I'm not really sure he's evil." Lilah replied, gazing at the door in thought.

She looked back at Wesley, who had already snagged the book off her stealthily and become deeply enthralled in it. Lilah stared at him with admiration, though she did not know why.

After a short while of flicking through pages Wesley slammed shut the book, knocking Lilah out of her seductive daze.

"I'm going to flick through the pages and search for any reference to the things you mentioned," he informed her, suddenly sounding very professional. He looked up at her with a sincere expression. "You realise that if I find anything that tells me this is important I will have to tell Angel." Lilah sighed, but nodded with a frown.

So Wesley once again opened the book, preparing his eyes for lengthy and intense reading. They were already tired enough. He hadn't slept for about a day and a half now, and that day and a half had been pretty exhausting. Lilah handed him a thick pad and a pen. Wesley frowned.

"It looks as though some of it is Proto-Canaanite, South Iberian I think. The later entries are Latin. Lilah, do you think you could find me a reference for early Proto-Canaanite scripture?"

Lilah smiled; she was so thankful that he would be able to translate it and that she would finally get to learn what was happening. She felt a great excitement and strength of spirit come over her.

"Sure," she reached for the phone, "let's do this."


	10. Revelations part 1

Hey everyone! Well, this was less than a week but, oh well. This is part one of a chapter because I thought the chapter, before it was in two parts, was too long. Not sure, but here you go, the first of two parts. Thanks once again for the reviews, love those reviewers. Especially if you help me out by saying what you did, didn't like and so forth. No matter, enjoy!

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 10-Revelations Part 1

...

A distant hum of traffic echoed heedlessly in the empty lobby of a downtown hotel. Apart from this there was little sound, but for a faint drone of human voices coming from a closed office. 

Gunn, Angel and Lorne were all huddling around the office desk, leaned as far as possible to gain a better view of Fred's lap top. A weak lamp on a shelf against the wall dimly lighted the room. Fred was squinting into her radiant white lap top screen, her eyes and mind scanning the many words and thoughts that bounced around inside her head. Angel was looking slightly agitated; it was clear that he was desperate to follow through with their plan to break into Wolfram and Hart. She figured it was all right for him as he had just spent a very long time confined within a tight container. Gunn was just hanging around, admiring the room (despite the many times he had seen it) and waiting for Fred to get something done. Lorne was faithfully watching the screen intently; he looked calm and relaxed in a blatant contrast to the others. She was working frantically to try and accomplish the challenging task of breaking into the Wolfram and Hart security system configuration, or at leat information program through the main server. They had their own server set up within their building, according to Angel. She did have a plan though; she would try and get a lock on a Wolfram and Hart user on the net and break into his own computer. If this were accomplished she would be on the main server and would simply have to hack her way through to find the security information.

"Ah!" She said, instantly drawing Angel and Gunn's wandering eyes to her screen.

"What is it?" Angel asked, leaning in.

"Well I just found a user online."

"So then you'll be able to, what, get onto his computer?" Asked Gunn.

"Ah, yeah that's pretty much it."

"Are you certain you'll be able to do it?" Asked Angel hastily.

"Break into the server? Definitely, but shutting down the security systems..."

"What?"

"Well it just depends if they allow any control over the security system from any old terminal." Angel looked worried. "Just give me some air and time." Angel realised he had been hovering right over Fred to see the screen closely. He immediately stepped back and walked back over to his spot against the wall. Lorne smiled slightly as he sat and listened to Fred's soothing typing against the hollow silence of the hotel.

----

Conner was startled when the soft click of a door broke the silent tension in the room. His two guards had barely managed to move inches since Gavin had left and he himself had grasped a firm hold over his straying thoughts, mislead into anger through the pain. He was still mad; his unquenchable thirst for revenge was only growing stronger with every second, as it had day by day. It wasn't even so much what they had done to him, hell, he had suffered far worse; he was just desperate for someone to lash out on, someone to blame. All his life he had pleaded for the kill, the taste of punishing something and now was no different. Conner knew that he was a tired spirit, content only for inflicting hurt and bearing it. As Lynwood strode confidently into the room, Conner felt his heart rush with hate. He was also amused to see Gavin dragging himself into the room behind Lynwood and two other self-important looking men with a pathetically resentful pace. Before him was a man who could put Gavin in his place.

Lynwood peered down at Conner as though he was a model, propped up against the wall for his amusement. He did indeed look amused, or at least greatly pleased at Conner's presence, as though he was an object Lynwood had wanted to add to his collection a very long time ago. Smiling broadly he dismissed the two guards who had been accompanying Conner for the last half of an hour. They abandoned the room compliantly. Lynwood took his place at the foreground of the room, leaving Gavin a dejecting place at the back where he occupied alongside the other two men.

"Well well. Finally I get to meet you."

"We've met."

"I prefer these circumstances, they're m..."

"You're a coward."

"Thanks for your pity, it was wasted. You see, I'm here to talk about Angel, for now anyway."

"It's always about Angel huh? Am I not interesting enough for you?"

"Personality wise, no. But in the profiteering frame you fit quite favourably. You are interesting to this company, Conner, therefore you are an interest of mine. We want to know everything about you, and I hope you can tell us soon."

"What? You've just ran a knife across my chest and now you want a personal conversation?"

"Please don't blame the good people at Wolfram and Hart for foolish acts on behalf of its less respected employers." 

Gavin's face imploded into a scowl of hatred and resentment. He walked forward towards Gavin with a growing bout of confidence.

"LYNWOOD!"

Lynwood rolled his eyes privately to Conner before swinging around to face Gavin. They were standing before each other, their faces inches from the other. Gavin was scowling loathsomely, glaring piercingly into Lynwood's eyes. Lynwood wore a haughty smile and stared casually back at him.

"What is it Gavin?" He inquired with a cool, crisp tone.

"WHAT IS IT? Are you forgetting that it was I who captured Conner? That's right," he spat, "me! Not you!"

"Gavin, I think it is you who is short of memory or just brains in general. I, don't, care. You captured him, great, unfortunately for you I'm here now, which means, one, you get no credit for anything you did, and two, you have no authority over what happens from now on."

Gavin had been cringing with utter despair with every word that came from Lynwood's mouth. His confidence drained away and he finished looking saddened and mournful with a bitter undertone. 

"Now go back over there and watch silently while I ask our guest a few questions." 

Gavin complied unhappily, marching back to where he had been previously standing. He folded his arms and locked his eyes onto Lynwood, bearing a relentless angered expression. Lynwood smiled politely and turned back to Conner.

"Now Conner, Gavin tells me you told him where Angel was. Of course, Gavin didn't find him, so, I have to ask, were you telling the truth?"

Conner had previously taken leave from concentration to filter through his thoughts in a hope of finding a way of escape and now he was thinking more clearly.

"I'm not saying a thing unless I get out of here."

"Of course we'll let you out, Connor. We're not bad people; we just get the job done. Tell us where he is and we'll let you go."

"That simple is it?"

"Well you could have a whine about trust and all that rubbish but I'm here to business Conner. There is not trust, only facts and chance."

"What's the chance you'll let me go?"

"Well, if you don't tell us, then zero, you do, and, well, it's an improvement."

Conner sighed, his tired mind was searching valiantly for a response or a sense of reason but his body ached and he felt weakened with the slightest opportunity.

"I told you. It was the truth, Point Dune." He spoke softly and regretfully. Lynwood raised his brow in keen gesture of interest. 

"So, you weren't lying after all. I knew you were smarter than that. If that is where he is, or was, could you possibly explain why we couldn't find him?"

Conner was looking down to the ground now, not wanting to spy his victors in the eye. He shook his head. 

"I have no idea."

"You said the box was metal right? Steel?" Lynwood pushed.

Conner nodded. Lynwood changed his expression to one of deep concentration.

"Who else knew?"

"No other." Conner lied. There was a pause then Conner looked up when he heard a short burst of footsteps. He saw one of the to men whom had accompanied Lynwood into the office step forward and whisper into Lynwood's ears.

__

No

The man said this then stepped back between Gavin and the other man. Lynwood sighed sympathetically.

"Like I said, thought you were smart, kid."

Conner sneered. The Asian man who had stepped forward must have used magic to discern the credibility of his answers. Damn.

The other man stepped forward next to Lynwood. Lynwood nodded and sat back against the table, watching the man with interest. The tall, dark man had pulled out a small marble from his breast pocket and placed it in the open palm of his outstretched hand. He muttered a few words and then the marble glowed brilliant blue, waves of mystic light dancing at its edges, flickering hypnotically.

Conner shivered with fear; he didn't like the look of what stood before him. He never trusted magic but there was something sinister about the way the man held the orb and the cruel grin Lynwood bore. He caught a glimpse at Gavin; he was locked in position and retained a passionate glare of hate towards Lynwood. Conner managed a brief grin before a sudden burst of vivid, cruel pain shot through his head, obliterating all other thoughts and feelings.

---

This was the first time Gavin had shifted his burning eyes from Lynwood's despised back. He was now looking straight at Conner's pained, shocked, and horrified face, seeing the tears form at his eyes as he threw his head around and screamed from the depths of his voice. It was deafening but Gavin did not want to hear, he felt himself beginning to feel sorry for the boy, as would any human faced with the scene he was presented with. There was a hole right through Conner's forehead, the exact same size as the marble that had shot through it. Blood began to pour out, running down his face. Gavin didn't understand why they were doing this and just as he was wondering why they would want to kill him the hole disappeared just as suddenly as it had came, the blood was also gone from his face. It was as though it had never happened, well, if it weren't for Conner screaming and shaking his head wildly. Gavin now assumed the marble must have been some kind of probe, searching his mind for the truth. It was obvious that the process inflicted a hell of a lot of pain as Gavin wondered how much pain it would take to get someone as indifferent as Conner to howl with distraught.

The brief encounter with grief and concern finished abruptly as Gavin resumed his glare on Lynwood. Hate and remorse once more consumed him. Just half an hour ago he had been so happy, expecting to be greeted by a jovial and grateful Lynwood his glorious hopes had been harshly dashed. Now he felt like a fool, he hated himself for that, he felt betrayed, for that he hated Lynwood. Thoughts of revenge were beginning to etch into his mind, burrowing deeply into his every thought. Even greater than ever. He knew that he would go to any lengths to succeed here, he didn't want to be second best again, he didn't want to lose. Slowly he began to realise that he hadn't lost yet. He would have swift revenge. Lynwood will die.

---

"So, what have you found?" Asked Lilah looking over to Wesley who was still buried deep in the book.

She had to repeat the question before Wesley put the book down and looked over to her.

"Quite a bit actually."

"Elaborate."

"Well, I've seen a couple of mentions of the Wolf and there is definitely an apocalyptic feel to the book."

"That's all?"

"No. I'm getting a hell of a lot, but at the moment it's all disconnected information and I can't put it together. I've seen mentions of a vessel; lot's of talk about sacrifices and something about a hart. It's all just nonsense really."

"What about these demon things that were after me, the ones that looked identical."

"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."

"So, what, they can look like us?"

"Indeed. It seems they have been on the Earth from the very beginning," he looked up, frowning. "If a demonic sect of such importance has existed for so long I wonder; I wonder why would there be no record of them?"

"Are you sure these are the guys who are after me?"

"Like I said, not sure about anything yet." Wesley's voice fell slightly flat at the end of the sentence, so as, he thought, it would be blatantly obvious he was leaving out the details. Well, he looked over at his notepad, scanning across the hallowed sentence in the middle of the page, scribbled messily and doubtfully. He guessed she wasn't too observant, or maybe, just maybe, she was learning to trust him. It was just as well; learning what he had discovered in the book was something she wouldn't enjoy.

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.

It was the only sentence he had been fully able to translate and he was sure of its integrity. He frowned at it apprehensively, the ominous words striking a deadly strong fear into his heart. He felt it though, as he glanced through the pages, he knew that something was going to happen, something soon, and it was going to be huge. A walk in the ocean, he could see the warning signs and he knew it was going to catch them off their feet. His mind now seemed to be rushing with fear and knowledge. Right now he knew he had to get this book to Angel, and he was no longer bothering to read the book, he was just itching to tell Angel, to make sure things play right. He was pretty sure Angel would soon be here, his plan had been pretty fool-proof, it was obvious that Angel would look for Cordelia, and it was obvious he would come to find him.

---

Pain was burning rapidly through Conner's head, no longer aware of his surroundings, he felt something inside of him draw him deep into reflection, memories. But it was strange, he felt nothing, he thought none, only did he watch the memories fly past, as though they were draped over his eyes in his sleep and somehow his eyes were open. He felt nothing but the pain as he watched.

He saw a wide, grim landscape stretched before him, a large, ominous figure stood in front of him, spreading his comforting arms out, as though to shield him. He watched himself, notably no older than 12, cowering behind the man. The man was Holtz, and his tall, strong shadow fell back upon Conner and the surrounding rock, thick black against the harsh light. He hid in the shadow, feeling the familiar, hard footsteps of hordes of warriors, through the rock at his bare feet. Holtz was wearing the brown leather jacket he had worn ever since Conner could remember. It was of this world, he must have bought it with him to Quotorth. His hands bore a crafted wooden staff; Conner remembered him making it, from the finest wood in Quotorth, not that there was much of that.

Conner watched his worn, scared face as he peered around the side of Holtz. Heavy thumping of footsteps and loud clanging of armour erupted around him. They were standing on a flat plateau of smooth rock; all around them were fields of dead grass and hardened ground. Conner saw the demons now, about ten of them, they were spread out and were strategically surrounding them. They moved loudly and cumbersomely through the pale yellow grass, yet advancing swiftly. Holtz did not back away. Conner saw himself cower and look around him at the approaching demons. They were shaped like humans and wore basic armour, their heads were black and leathery and their eyes were red. Every now and then they opened their mouth then snapped it shut, revealing dark, sharp teeth that looked like a jumbled mess of blades. They all sneered menacingly, intending to insight fear into their prey. 

He saw himself biting his fingernail, as dirty and unkempt as it was, and breathing hard. The demons stepped slowly onto the rock, still advancing into the middle, were Holtz and his younger self stood. Holtz was now dancing around Conner, trying to see all sides of him at once. Finally the demons charged, holding their poorly crafted staves above their heads. Holtz danced around Conner stopping hard swings of staves, and putting his own hard blows to the enemy. One of the demons swung Holtz's leg but he struck his staff straight into the ground, stopping it, then flicking his staff forwards towards the demon's head. Due to the rather sharp rock tied sturdily onto its tip the staff ran into its head. Black blood scattered onto the light grey rock. Holtz fought harder and faster all around Conner as he gazed up in fear and admiration. Holtz began to shout as he fought valiantly.

"This is your father, Conner."

He ducked a strike and whacked the demon across the side of the face.

"I fight him now just as I did then, in my dreams, in my hunt, he's always there. His kin stalk me, prey me, and you with the evil they are stricken with."

He was whacked in the face and fell to the hard rock, Conner grimaced but sighed in relief as Holtz tripped a demon by whacking it in the side of its leg and jumped back to his feet, fending off several other attacks.

"Just as I am now, Conner, I saved you then, I saved you from having to live with the your father, knowing that he carries evil where ever he goes. I will always be here for you; I will never stop saving you Conner, but you must always trust me. Never trust good that is bestowed with evil, it will always carry something else. I carry you Conner, never forget that I carried you and I always will."

Conner saw the remaining three demons fall to the ground, thick, black blood trickling onto the stone. Holtz walked over to the young Conner and bent down to meet his eyes, putting his strong hands onto his shoulders. Suddenly Conner felt himself looking straight into the eyes of Holtz, through the hard, indifferent expression to the warm yet weary look in his eyes. Conner looked into his face, gazing deeper and deeper as though searching for an answer within Holtz's vague expression, an answer he knew not the question to. Suddenly, with a cruel flash he was looking into the eyes of a dead man. He was still staring deeply into his face but it was now pale and decrepit. Conner got a quick look into his eyes before he was suddenly standing metres back, watching himself lean before Holtz. He had caught something in that sudden glimpse of Holtz's grim, yet foreboding eyes; he knew it and although he didn't know what it was, it discomforted him greatly. Justine was hovering behind the Conner who was bent, in anguish over his dead mentor.

"Angelus." She said.

With a quick flash he was standing on the boat, watching himself and Justine seal the container, wherein Angel lay, bound tightly by steel ropes; he knew. Conner walked up to the container and looked down into Angel's face. This time he looked, as deeply into Angel's eyes as he could. When he had dropped him into the ocean Conner had been too enraged, too consumed by his lust for revenge to really listen or look to Angel. Now though, his mind seemed clearer, he wasn't sure why though he felt it was something to do with the feeling he had received from Holtz's dead eyes before. Once again as he saw Angel, ignoring the fuss he and Justine were making in the background he felt an ominous wave of suspicion or understanding rush over him. Abruptly, before Conner had had time to understand what he was feeling, he was pulled back into reality.

The pain hit him once again, in full force, throbbing throughout the entirety of his head, feeling as though someone was cutting it open and poking around. It had not come to him that, in his dreaming the pain had eluded him, in fact he felt completely disoriented, it was like being in another world. Barely conscious he felt something trickle, then pour down his forehead. He blinked a couple of times, trying to focus his sight, his thoughts. Then with just as little warning as it had come the pain left him. He felt fine, but for a slight disjointed feeling that throbbed throughout him. It felt as though he was only partly present. Nonetheless, he quickly opened hie eyes and scanned the room, as his thoughts flooded back to him he was passionately determined to find out what they had done to him, what had caused the severe pain and just as easily ceased it. As soon as he opened his dreary eyes and looked up he saw a small blue marble float through the room. The marble the man had opened his palm to reveal. He thought he understood as he gazed spitefully at the smiling man, whom the marble was heading towards. Damn. He looked to the floor; they had obviously sent that thing into his mind, revealed his memories and knowledge to it. It was certainly a whole lot better than interrogation.

The marble landed in the man's open palm and he closed his fingers gently around it and placed it in his pocket with a sly grin towards Conner. Conner sneered, with upmost contempt. Vengeful thoughts began to build up inside him once again. The man whispered in Lynwood's ear. Conner smiled with the private knowledge he could here every word they said.

__

One other saw, Justine, She lives 34 Fenton St.

Conner listened only half-heartedly; something was eating away at the back of his mind, a question that needed to be asked. He bottled up the feeling as best he could, not wanting it to dominate his thoughts. Lynwood smiled as the man retreated to the back of the room.

"Dear dear dear, Conner. What were you thinking?" His tone was thick with jovial mockery. "I live in lies, boy, I breathe it," his tone suddenly fell to a disquietingly serious, crisp voice. "You think I can't smell it when an arrogant boy like you blurts it out?"

"I DON"T CARE! Why should I? You do some fancy tricks and now I'm all impressed? I don't work like that."

"You should care! I guess you haven't worked it out yet. Now that we know everything you know all that's left of your stay is some interior probation, a little bodily examination if you get my gist, very painful stuff. Oh, and your friend Justine, we'll find her, we'll get her information then we'll kill her." With this Lynwood added a smile and a wink, got up from the table and strolled coolly towards the door.

"YOU BASTARD! I"LL KILL YOU!" Shouted Conner, at the top of his strained voice. In his rage meaning every word.

Lynwood stopped in his tracks, and, all though he only saw Lynwood's back he could sense a dark smile cross his face. Aroused by Conner's sudden eruption of anger, he swivelled round and faced him, with an eerie expression of joy.

"I'll kill you first." He said, with a self-indulgent chuckle. Conner glared as harshly as he could, but Lynwood turned back to the door indifferently. Then, as Lynwood placed his hand on the brass doorknob to leave, Conner caught something out of the corner of his eye. A short sharp, menacing movement. His eyes widened as he saw Gavin, bearing a vengeful expression and an out-of-mind glare, pick up a rather long, sharp dagger from the glass shelves. It was an ancient antique on display; its blade was long and steep, a point sharpened to the bone. Conner watched intently as Gavin, ignoring everyone else in the room held the dagger down beside his leg, stealthily advancing on Lynwood and raising the dagger as he approached. 

With the force of a thousand tonnes a wave of realisation hit Conner. He threw his head back into the wall with a silent cry of deep, dark anguish. He understood it all.


	11. Revelations part 2

Hello everybody! Back again! It's been more than a week but my internet access was strained a little. Here we are with the conclusion to last week's chapter (not the story). Incase I've rushed into it and the story is too complicated or you can't remember events from previous chaps I've compiled a recap.

Connor trapped Angel and dropped him into the ocean.

Wesley captured Justine and used her to find and rescue Angel.

Angel dreamt as he was released from the ocean.

-------------------------------------------------

"I believe it was my farther who taught me how to hate, soul, or no soul." Angel spoke to Darla.

"You've got to understand it's not how we do things that matters, it's what we do" Angel said to a proffessor.

1792, Luxembourg.

"I take it you're Asheara." Angel met a white-robed priestess who spoke to him of the world inevitable end.

-------------------------------------------------

Angel went to find Wes to get Cordelia but discovered that he had been captured by Wolfram and Hart. Angel planned to break in and retrieve him.

-------------------------------------------------

Lilah was called to speak to the girl in the white room. She spoke of a coming apocalypse.

"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."

Lilah found a place she could research what she had been told. A ghostly appearance of scrawled words that spoke to her, told her to take a marked book. She was attacked by two, identical human-looking men.

She captured Wesley to translate the book. Wesley discovered about the two men,

"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."

He discovered a line of text crucial to the coming apocalypse.

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.

-------------------------------------------------

Connor was captured by Wolfram and Hart and tortured by Gavin. Lynwood returned and degraded Gavin's authority and pride. Gavin took a weapon and prepared to kill Lynwood.

Connor remembered things from his past snippets of his relationship with Holtz, and after seeing something he'd never seen in him before and viewing the hatred on gavin's eyes he understood it all.

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 11- Revelations part 2.

---

Angel stood tall at the foot of a long, wide, yet gradually risen staircase. He was standing right in the centre of the first step, standing still and looking up at the imposing structure up the stairs before him. Large silver letters printed on a sleek granite block spelt the cruel words, Wolfram and Hart. Behind him the road yawned with the few cars upon it. Only every now and then did the dim effect of headlights or the sound of a frosted engine echo meaninglessly behind his still figure. The barely visable ridges of a rising sun posed either side of the building, lapping fiercely at the weakening night sky. The fresh, morning air was prominent and Angel breathed deeply.

Perhaps he could have chosen a better time to break into Wolfram and Hart. He had not been taking many things that he would usually be quick to consider, Daylight, for example. Fear and casual consideration had all but abandoned him now, left only with a deep, lustful longing to get things back to normal as swiftly as possible. He was on a mission; he was going to get everyone back and he was willing to do whatever it took. He no longer cared for silent worries such as the threatening shadows of light that frayed the night sky and the hills on the horizon. He took a deep, hearty breath, filling his soul with new life and energy. He rose a step, then another, until he picked up his pace and marched through the centre of the wide steps, strolling briskly towards the approaching glass doors.

As he walked he pulled out his cell phone and flicked down the top. He called the number Fred had given him, and within a second she was on the other end.

"Is it all ready?"

"Yup, the good people at Wolfram and Hart can expect a early morning fire drill. Well, they shouldn't really expect it if–"

"–Thanks. Well done Fred, wish me luck."

"Good luck."

"Ready, set" He hang up and dropped the phone casually back into his breast pocket. The glass doors gave a faint bing' as he stepped through them. Raising his eyes to the practically empty reception, he stood in the middle of the open doors with a dark smile. With a sudden eruption the piercing sound of the fire alarms shook the stagnant night air. The guy at the reception jumped off his chair, cruelly awoken from a light doze. Angel watched as the man stumbled around in panic and shock then placed a foot across the barrier, stepping onto the cool marble floor of Wolfram and Hart.

---

Everything seemed to be going in slow motion, he the meaningless movement around him only dimly through the vivid, thick beat of his heart. His mind was racing, relieved of a pending question he was suddenly thrown into world of pain and despair. He felt everything tumbling down around him, as though it mattered none, all his thoughts wrapped tightly around his pain. Everything he knew about his father, everything he had lived for, revenge against his father, it all meant nothing. It was heartless bitter ranting from and old, pathetic man. All his actions for the past years had been completely focused on the hate he felt for Angelus and the respect he knew and cherished for Holtz. Holtz had wanted this; it had been his undying lust for revenge that had taught Conner to be strong, not wise words of love and care. Holtz had taken his sweet vision of causing pain to Angelus to the death, using Conner to do the dirty work. His mind flashed back to Holtz's dead eyes, this time he saw clearly the bittersweet satisfaction, the pathetic façade of triumph, imbedded deep into his eyes. In fact Conner could see Holtz's whole face decrepit from the hate that consumed it. Conner felt no love there; he despised the foul sight of his betrayer, the coward who had used him his whole life, who had felt nothing more for him than the demons he said he was saving him from. After catching a silent flash of glee in Gavin's eyes he knew now what he had been feeling in his heart for so long. Through comparison he saw that Holtz was always about revenge, in everything he did, nothing else mattered to him. Now Conner knew, or felt, that Angel did have love for him. Holtz had told him of the evil within him when he was no better himself for now he was sure of one thing above all; Angelus was not his killer. He had also seen this in Angel's pain stricken eyes when he had peered down into them. Everything suddenly dropped into place and revealed itself as what it really meant. He felt now how Angel must have felt; Conner had been fooling him into believing he loved Angel and was happy to be with him only to sentence him to eternal torture.

Conner felt the tears begin to flood from his eyes and roll despairingly down his bruised cheeks. His breaths sobbed with a deep pain that came from his revelation. Everything he had known or had come to believe was a lie; his whole life was a sweetly crafted web of lies, a web to catch Angel. Now he knew that he had banished the only person who had ever loved him.

He bit his lip with the pain of realisation but suddenly he threw himself into a violent outburst, trying to damper the harsh fire in his heart by feeling physical pain. He screamed loudly and smashed his head backward into the blaster wall behind him.

---

Gavin's mind was dim. He had, just seconds ago been ready to tear his head off to cease its blinding rage. His mind had been racing with a thousand thoughts, a thousand plans of action. Now, though, he knew what he wanted to do and he knew how to do it. He felt no more deep questions of morals as he edged forward quietly, his knife gripped tightly in his shaking hand. His mind was left dull and he felt as though he had no soul, he was just an empty corpse lumbering fixedly towards his target. He knew without the slightest of doubt that he was going to kill that bastard who was now standing in the doorway, accompanied by his two aids he walked slowly as though he had all the time in the world and the right to enjoy it. It seemed strange to Gavin, having decided to commit murder; in most movies he'd seen whenever it came right down to it people would hesitate, as though unsure, for him the decision had already been made.

He was going to kill that son of a bitch who thought he was just a doormat ready to be trampled upon then beaten when dirty. He had been here long enough to know the ropes; he was sure killing Lynwood would have its advantages. Perhaps guarantee a promotion, of course if he were wrong they would likely kill him. He didn't much care for worries of any sought now. He knew this was his only chance to make it, this was the final shot, his last chance to make something of himself and renounce bowing to his oppressors, his superiors.

He took a huge gulp as his last, loud echoing footstep stopped about 3 inches behind Lynwood. Gavin's knife was fully raised above his head and suddenly everything began to move slowly, his fast heartbeat a slow thump, fitting background as he watched the knife, gripped maliciously in his hand drew downwards. It was heading straight towards Lynwood's neck. The knife fell straight to its target with the all Gavin's might.

Suddenly a loud piercing scream emerged from behind them and then a large crashing noise. As his knife cut through the air Lynwood's body shifted slightly as he turned to face the screaming. It happened suddenly and shockingly. Blood splattered across Gavin's face and suit as his knife plunged into Lynwood's shoulder. Everything appeared to Gavin as glorified flashes, images, imprinted in his mind by their lingering sense of horror. The moment the blood came gushing out and the scream rang out into the small room it all happened in terrifying flashes for him. The realisation of what he had done, or more primarily, what he had planned to do. He drew the knife back, his eyes widening with the cruel, twisted images of the glaring red blood covering the knife. He realised all at once, now that the rage had suddenly drained from him, how wrongly he had acted, and he could no longer feel any place inside of him that would commit to such horrific desires. The blood and the pain he saw sunk back into him. It felt as though the past five minutes was just a huge, engulfing haze, as though he was not in his own mind. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wide, his face dumbfounded. He stepped back slowly and dazedly, away from the horror. Lynwood screamed out in pain and stumbled backwards into the open door that lay against the wall.

Gavin felt his heart beat with horror and sudden compassion, he felt his grip around the bloody knife fail and he was about to let it drop to the floor in his overwhelming grief. Gavin was no longer sensing the movements of the world around him, he was aware of nothing but the deep wound he felt in his heart. He didn't even make an attempt to move as the Asian man's hand spread open and swiftly raised towards him; it didn't register, his mind cared for nothing any longer. All of this was happening in mere seconds, the room had suddenly burst into life, everyone was playing a apart in what transpired as though they were in a heavily rehearsed play, a dance.

A sudden, invisible force hit Gavin in the chest. He was suddenly bought back to reality with a jarring pain and heavy force that lifted him off his feet and flew him over the table and harshly into the wooden wall, beside Connor. Just before he had been blown away by the blast he had managed to grip on to his knife as though he were holding his only chance to live. The dark businessman helped Lynwood to his feet and held his arm to his shoulder. The man raised back his head to the ceiling and began a steady chant as he firmly gripped Lynwood's wound.

The scream had forcefully awoken Connor from his grave of pain and distress. His whole life had been suddenly turned upside down with a single notion. He had just realised he had lived for nothing. But the scream, the blood-curdling cry of pain had pulled him back. He had looked up just in time to see a flash of blood spurt onto the floor and Lynwood fall back to the door, gripping his bleeding shoulder, sobbing with the pain. As Lynwood cringed with the wound he saw the two men who were accompanying him spring into action. He saw Gavin standing, immobilised by the blunt shock of what he had done, and then knife slide slowly out from his hand. Connor's mind was back in the game now, his eyes were open and he swallowed his pain to react to the situation. He watched everyone as they moved slowly to his mind. He knew how to think quick and right now he was scanning every action, every movement of the room to find if he could use it to his advantage. Suddenly he saw Gavin being launched off his feet and fly towards Connor through the air. Connor's mind clicked, he knew how he could win, and he had to use this, his only chance to get out. Connor suddenly leant to the side as Gavin's back slammed into the wall next to him and slumped down, into a drowsy sitting position. Connor, who had previously noted that Gavin had gripped the knife still as he hit the wall, spared no time in reaching out and grabbing his neck, pulling Gavin towards him in a fierce grip.

Abruptly the pain left him. Lynwood blinked a few times before opening his watery eyes to see his assistant leaned over to him smiling comfortingly. His assistant's hand was outstretched and rested just above his wound. He looked down at his shoulder. The suit was torn but he saw the soothing skin unbathed in blood and completely unscathed. The man put his arm back to his side and helped him up. Lynwood felt his legs tremble a little bit but then he felt the shock leave him just as the pain had.

"Thankyou Michael. I owe you one." Lynwood spoke before throwing out his fingers in front of him and bending them through entwined hands. A loud crack rang out and he suddenly shot his head around to the rest of the scene. Lynwood felt the surge of power and fun come over him once more as he saw Gavin held tightly by Connor around the neck, sobbing in despair. His other assistant had his hand pointing over to them, at the ready. Lynwood smiled and walked over to the table. He took a comfortable position and stared at the fierce Connor with an oblivious grin. They stared into each other's eyes for minutes, Connor becoming ever more angry and Lynwood smirking resolutely. 

Connor felt his heart beat faster. He began to fear his threat was worth nothing, and he hated seeing Lynwood having the time of his life. The thoughts of revenge that usually clouded his head were absent. Connor was holding them deep inside of himself. He had resolved that he would become a better person, someone who could love and be loved. He realised that this man was just getting in his way, an annoyance. Unexpectedly Lynwood burst out in a sudden fit of hysterical laughter. Connor frowned as he watched him crackle joyously.]

"Connor, my boy. What are you doing?" He inquired merrily.

"What are _you_ doing?" Connor spat. When he got no reply save a sharp smirk he resumed, "I'm proposing a deal."

"Great. And I'm bathing in laughableness."

"What?" He demanded.

"Well I don't want Gavin. He just stabbed me you idiot! What kind of hostage is that?"

Gavin frowned with despair. It was hopeless, now he was destined to die. His opportunity had washed past and there was no one to help him. That was his fault he supposed he had made sure there was no one. He took another look at Lynwood piercing smile and felt himself slowly releasing his hold over Gavin. He had already taken the knife off him and he had made sure to keep it concealed behind him. He considered himself extremely lucky for how it had played out so far; his chains had been just the lengths to scoop him under his arm and Gavin had been delivered to him. Just as he almost took his arm away something struck him. He knew how Gavin didn't trust anyone; he had picked up on that quite quickly. Now he held Gavin again and fumbled hastily through his pockets, searching desperately for his last hope. The look of hope across his face faded quickly until he felt his hand brush by something cold in his jacket pocket. He pulled out a gleaming set of keys.

Lynwood had already picked up on the plan of action and the man who had blown Gavin across the room jogged up to Connor to beat them back from him. The man stopped before Connor and looked down on him with a stern expression.

Connor suddenly realised what he had to do. He despised the fact that he had to do it, but he knew that he had no choice. The man prepped a punch but moving at insurmountable speed and accuracy Connor acted upon his only option. He swung his hand behind his back, gripped the knife and, in sudden, cruel jolt shoved his hand out in front of him as far as the chains would permit, releasing the knife at great precise force. The man had barely the time to flinch before a knife was imbedded through the centre of his forehead. Lynwood fell back in shock and rolled off the table, crashing awkwardly to the floor, barely avoiding a gush of blood that flooded the table. The man was propped against it with his head resting on its edge, staring silently at the ceiling. Connor's mind jumped into action and the adrenalin rushed through him. He forced himself to feel no remorse as he leaned backwards to get a good view and plugged the key into the tiny little hole below one of the chains. Keeping the corner of his eye on the other man who was lunging towards him, his arm drawn back. He twisted the key and suddenly all the cuffs cut open falling to the ground on the chains. He swung his arm up to meet the incoming punch just in time, then lunged forward with his other arm, coming over the man's shoulder and smacking straight into his jaw. The man screamed in pain as he slammed back against the table. Connor was impressed with himself for the sharp knock out punch. He rose powerfully to his feet, glaring past the two men's limp heads resting on the table. He saw Gavin scamper to his feet and scrambled to the secluded corner of the room to take shelter behind a large pot plant.

Connor smiled as he saw Lynwood finally emerge from behind the table. Connor detected the fear in his rise; Connor doubted he knew what to expect when he rose to his feet, certainly not his two men neatly lined up against the table and the boy he had been torturing to be waiting for him with a sweet smile of justice.

Lynwood shook with the sudden shock reaching frantically to the shelves behind him for support. He was breathing fearfully as Connor kept a hard smile. Lynwood cowered against the wall, gripping onto the shelves for comfort.

"Well, well." Connor laughed happily just as Lynwood had done. "What do we have here?"

"Please, I'm sorry Connor."

"What's the phrase? Yeah, true colours, looks like I'm seeing them. Not so commanding when you're victims have room to move are we?" He smiled with joy as he teased. Suddenly his fun cut to a sudden end as a sharp, harsh ringing pierced the air. It jarred his ears for a second before Connor adjusted to the phasing noise. It continued to ring incessantly as he frowned in wonder.

"What is this?"

Lynwood shook his head with irritation from the noise but hastily replied.

"IT"S THE FIRE DRILL!"

Connor smiled that Lynwood felt he had to shout to get through to him. He waited a while, just grinning at Lynwood cruelly.

"When does it stop?"

"WHAT?"

"WHEN DOES IT STOP?"

"SOON! PLEASE CONNOR, LET ME"

"Shut up!" With that Lynwood returned to an aggravated silence. Soon Connor's ears rang incessantly as the ringing ceased. He shook his head and adjusted to the new frequency. He grinned again and looked back over to Lynwood.

"Let's talk, well, you can talk. I'll listen and maybe kill." He said, calmly.

"Listen" His plea turned to a silent frown as the lights suddenly began to dim and a soft droning sound echoed through the air. Connor looked around the room and was quickly plunged into total darkness. He sighed and blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness. He swung around to face Gavin again.

"What the hell is going on?"

----

Wesley frowned angrily at the page before him. He made a thinking noise with his mouth then looked over to his notepad, which he had kept well hidden from Lilah. He grabbed his pen and quickly scribbled a triangle on the page. He labelled each one. He labelled the point on the triangle, of which had the two longest adjoining sides, Ram. The other two he labelled Wolf and Hart. He glared at the drawing.

"This is big, really big." He told himself. "Wolf, Ram and Hart. This is it, it must be the apocalypse they've been talking about."

The door suddenly drifted open and Lilah strolled in breezily, two cups in her hand. She walked past Wesley and placed both cups on the desk, before planting herself beside them. "Well, I've got good, coffee news. How about you?"

He suddenly felt compelled to tell her at least a bit of the truth. "It involves Wolfram and Hart."

"Yeah I figured that, me being here and all. Tell me something revolutionary." Wesley bit his lip; he could give her revolutionary all right.

"There's nothing I'm sure of yet." He replied defensively.

"Right," she said, taking a sip of coffee, "It's taken you an awful lot of time to decide you're not sure of anything."

"I can't go any faster, it's not as if I'm" All of a sudden Wesley was silenced by a sharp ringing noise. He shouted and covered his ears. Lilah did the same, cringing at the sound.

"What? Is this a fire alarm?" Wesley inquired.

"Yes!" She replied loudly.

"So, what, do you think there's a fire we should be worried about?"

"I'm not sure, I'll ring Dylan." She picked up the phone and quickly punched in the number. She held the phone to her ear with an impatient sigh. Suddenly she ceased tapping irritably on the table as she heard Dylan's voice.

Wesley strained to listen to her words through the incessant ringing his ears fought through. "Yes, I know that. Look, yes, JUST TELL ME WHETHER THERE IS A FIRE OR NOT!" He heard her as she picked up her voice into an irate shout. Smiling at this he saw Lilah drop the phone back on the hook and shake her head towards him. "No fire." She stated bluntly. Wesley felt a grin of gleeful suspicion spread across his face. He had almost managed to revoke the look before Lilah caught on.

"What the hell are you smiling about?" she shouted through the noise. He felt another smile overcome him but this time he let it flood his face, a patronising smug grin. Lilah frowned reproachfully just as the alarm sudden cut from its mighty sound. The room fell completely silent so abruptly Wesley practically fell off his chair. He shook his head in an attempt to escape the vile ringing in his ears then looked around the room curiously.

"What" he started, finding himself cut off by an abrupt bang from the door hitting the wall. He forgot his sentence as his eyes fell upon the dark figure that towered before him. He heard Lilah curse and scamper off the table, standing limply to her feet. "Angel. What the hell are you"

"Doing? I don't know, let's just flip that around shall we. What are you doing? Why did you get Wesley? And how could you be so stupid to keep him in your office" His voice suddenly began to lose its enforcement and strength as his eyes scanned Wesley's unbound posture, "unchained, uncuffed, unrestrictOK, What is going on?"

Lilah picked up Angel's fallen storm and weaved the usual elegance back into her stride. She strode towards him, stopping by the desk to lean comfortably. "I've sought ofemployed him for the night. I needed" She and her confidence were cut off suddenly when Angel turned to Wesley.

"Wesley, what's going on?" Lilah's smile faded and her face drooped. Wesley opened his mouth to reply when suddenly and unexpectedly the thick light of the room faded all around him. He looked around frantically at both Lilah and Angel with his last light to find them doing the same. He frowned as the light eventually dropped to an impenetrable, consuming black. He stayed in his seat with the hope of remaining calm until his eyes readjusted to the darkness.

Angel stood unmoving in the shadows, his eyes scowled in deep thought. He concentrated hard, blinked a few times then opened his eyes to the darkness. He could see properly, thanks to is vamp-sight. It was a slight image of night vision technology and a clearer perspective of figure outlines. He saw Wesley looking around the room and Lilah breathing hard with a slight panic.

"Lilah." He spoke with a calm clarity that strangely reassured Lilah.

"Yes?"

"What's going on?"

-----

Fred was leaning back in her chair drowsily; her body limp and rested. Yet she kept her eyes slightly open, concentrating with all possible focus on the images that randomly flicked up on the Lapp on the desk in front of her. She was still in Angel's office and although it hadn't been long she felt sleepiness overcome her, it had been a fairly hectic day after all. Lorne had already shifted upstairs to catch some z's and Gunn made his escape a few minutes ago, muttering something about hanging around and insisting that she leave the computer. She hadn't, and, somehow she felt at odds as to why. She had been remarkably compelled to watch the computer, as though she had been tipped something was to happen.

More black and white images flicked across the screen. She had set the system to loop short intervals of currently recording surveillance systems. She felt her eyes flicker determined to close and be rested but she held them open. An unearthly gust of bitter cold swept across her. She shivered to the soul and sat up instantly, rubbing her arms and scanning the room with a frightful expression. Convinced it was nothing but a sudden bout of cold she slowly turned her head back to the computer screen, still with a cautious frown. The second she saw the screen her eyes widened and she began to breathe heavily. Her face became unnervingly hot with unbelievable fear as her heart pounded; her whole body was shivering, as there, in full size, right on the screen was an eye. It looked as though someone was looking right into the camera, but the focus should have been totally fuzzy, this closed eye had a cruel clarity. She took sudden raspy breaths and her hands began to sweat as they were tightly gripping the edge of her seat. She felt a sharp urge to run, to sprint out of the room and find Gunn's arms but she forced her eyes to the screen. Then she let out a horrific scream as the eye opened to reveal and hellishly crisp red eye, focused, she though, right into her soul. The screen flickered to a camera view of the Wolfram and Hart lobby. There was a menacing black figure standing in front of the doorway. It was in the shape of a person but barely as it was impossibly blurry and smeared. The blackness of the figure seemed to move excitedly. It's head turned to face the camera. She saw nothing still but blackness, for which her pumping heart was relieved. Then she shivered as she 'felt' it smile, the feeling came into her fearful mind and she felt its joy. 

The screen flicked white and turned to black.


	12. Morbid Introduction

Hey everyone! Just finished this a couple of days ago, though I'd best post it up! After all I left it in a bit of an annoying cliffhanger style, didn't I? Thanks for all the reviewers so far, but, please, please, keep it up! Hope everyone's been enjoying the story, things are starting to hot up, huh! Put the recap in it again, which you should read, maybe this chapter will give you some answers to questions from chapters past! Hopefully every little thing that didn't make sense when you read it will make sense at the end of the story!

Connor trapped Angel and dropped him into the ocean. 

Wesley captured Justine and used her to find and rescue Angel. 

Angel dreamt as he was released from the ocean.

-------------------------------------------------

"I believe it was my farther who taught me how to hate, soul, or no soul." Angel spoke to Darla.

"You've got to understand it's not how we do things that matters, it's what we do" Angel said to a proffessor.

1792, Luxembourg:

"I take it you're Asheara." Angel met a white-robed priestess who spoke to him of the world inevitable end.

-------------------------------------------------

Angel went to find Wes to get Cordelia but discovered that he had been captured by Wolfram and Hart. Angel planned to break in and retrieve him.

-------------------------------------------------

Lilah was called to speak to the girl in the white room. She spoke of a coming apocalypse.

"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."

Lilah found a place she could research what she had been told. A ghostly appearance of scrawled words that spoke to her, told her to take a marked book. She was attacked by two, identical human-looking men.

She captured Wesley to translate the book. Wesley discovered about the two men,

"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."

He discovered a line of text crucial to the coming apocalypse.

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.

-------------------------------------------------

Connor was captured by Wolfram and Hart and tortured by Gavin. Lynwood returned and degraded Gavin's authority and pride. Gavin took a weapon and prepared to kill Lynwood. 

Connor remembered things from his past snippets of his relationship with Holtz, and after seeing something he'd never seen in him before and viewing the hatred on gavin's eyes he understood it all.

He understood Holtz's pathetic lust for revenge and vowed to stand against what he had been taught to believe.

Managing to escape from the chains that Lynwood used to bind, and torture him he was met by an unnerving fire alarm before being plunged into consuming darkness.

Angel arrived at Lilah's office and was prepared to rescue Wes when he found he wasn't so much of a captor after all. Soon they too were greeted by a fire alarm, which Angel had arranged, then, total darkness that made even Angel himself ponder.

****

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 11-Revelations part 2

Fred felt her heart beat rapidly and fiercely as she gripped the arms of her chair though her very life depended on it. Her chest heaved and she heard her frightened panting in the eerily silent air, which had just seconds ago been filled with her own mighty scream. Her hands began to slide down the leather seat as the sweat covered her shivering body. Her eyes were still, staring fixedly at the dark black screen in front of her. Just moments ago she had seen a horrible, menacing eye, as large as the screen itself spy her. Then horrific images of a dark, silhouetted figure walking ominously into Wolfram and Hart. Her breathing began to calm as Gunn suddenly burst into the office.

He skidded to a sudden halt as he spotted her staring dazedly at the screen, glued to it, fearing to move her eyes. "What the hell happened?" She kept her eyes on the screen as she replied dazedly, "whahuh?"

Gunn frowned and walked over to her chair, grabbing her on the shoulder. She suddenly felt as though she had been awoken from a consuming daydream. She blinked a few times and felt relieved her strange daze had been interrupted. She took comfort in Gunn's eyes as he leaned over closer to her. She was still breathing hard but she began to feel the horror of what she had seen leave her. Gunn noticed the fear in her face and felt at a loss as to what could have happened.

"Fred," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking to her sympathetically, "what, what happened to you?"

Fred began to shake her head as she tried to open her mouth to reply but the shock still choked her words. She sat in silence for a second, pausing from trying to speak and waited until her breath was calm. Lorne suddenly walked cautiously into the room. He was wearing a shiny, blue dressing gown and red slippers. His eyes were still sleepy and he was rubbing his forehead to hold back the tiredness. He looked over to Fred, stared dumbfounded, before blinking a few times and suddenly jumping into the world of the awake. He rushed over to the other side of the desk with a worried look on his face.

"What happened, honey?"

"I just heard a scream and came in here to find her all" Gunn stated. Lorne turned his head to Gunn with a comic expression. "Do I call you honey?" Gunn shook off the comment and turned back to Fred, who, to his relief, was smiling. "Probably" He muttered, under his breath, sure Lorne had heard despite the fact he had paid no attention.

"I thought you were catching some zeds, Lorne." Gunn said, pointedly.

"Hey, I was z-breezing until little Miss Muffet here cried spider." 

Fred was now fine. She felt no more fear with the other people in the room and although she felt it was mysterious, she no longer felt the horror. 

"It wasn't a spider, trust me." She finally spoke, clearly and informatively.

"Well, what was it? What happened?" Asked Lorne.

"The screen" She said, pointing at the black laptop screen. Lorne and Gunn both turned their heads to it and looked puzzled.

"I was watching bits and pieces of the Wolfram and Hart surveillance when I saw something strange, really strange."

"How strange are we talking? Cause a man with a pink bow tie ain't gonna cut it?" Gunn said. "Maybe a Pink Hat." He concluded with a grave frown. Fred grinned appreciatively, for his warming humour. "It was an eye, a huge eye. The size of the screen." Lorne and Gunn traded pondering glances. "It wasn't a dream or anything" She reassured them, though the memory was starting to fade and she was becoming less and less sure of what she had seen.

"At first I thought, you know, someone might have simply put their eye up to it, but then I saw that the camera was in perfect focus. So"

"So" Gunn pushed.

"It couldn't be that because something right up to it wouldn't look like that, and, something else. It was just, I don't know, wrong somehow." She met their raised brows by quickly continuing. "But then, the eye opened, and it was Red, the pupil." Gunn suddenly nodded his head in wonder, "And the video feed was black and white."

"Exactly, what I was seeing became even more impossible." She began to feel a strange feeling in her heart, as though she should not speak what she had seen and as though someone was in the room, watching her every move, catching her every word. It was an unsettling haunting feeling but she continued.

"Then, this is where it really creeps me out, then it went to the camera at the front reception."

"Yeah, that place can really give you a bad dose of fear." Fred ignored him.

"No, Someone, or something walked in through the front door. But it wasn't human, I'm sure. It appeared a thick, toneless black and, though the figure was human it seemed to be nothing but a smudge. It moved but it was a constant black, like an exceptionally dark shadow."

"Despite the fact you were wavering, in the sense of being awake, I trust you weren't dreaming." Gunn told her, sighing and taking in a deep breath of anxious wonder.

"I might be able to prove that it wasn't a dream." She said, after the realisation suddenly hit her. She leaned forward and picked up the laptop, placing it gently on her lap. The others leaned over her to get a view of what was going on. She pressed the on' button above the keyboard and waited. The others understood when they observed the computer didn't start. Gunn looked to the side to spot the cable that sat across the table, and the powerpoint it was clearly plugged into. He shook his head, "Don't worry, Fred. I didn't need proof. Now I just wonder what it all means. The stuff you say man, that is some freaky shit."

"Let's just hope it's a regular client buggering up the system." Lorne said.

Fred just frowned and gazed fiercely at the empty computer screen, searching for answers in the blackness.

------

"Answers," said Connor, as he looked about the room through the pitch-blackness. It appeared as a deep green to him and he could make out the two moving figures in the room. Gavin was standing against the wall, in the corner; his head and shoulders slumped. Connor felt something strange from him. He felt that Gavin was not scared, or even wondering what was happening. Lynwood was directly in front of him, still cowering from his glance, against the shelves. He looked down to see two faces almost looking up at him, with their necks resting at the edge of the table. Connor shivered as he saw the difference between the two faces. The knife was still imbedded in his forehead and his face was spread thick with dark blood. He looked around the room, feeling the dry blood on his own chest, which he had failed to cover up with his unbuttoned shirt, now hanging loosely either side of his figure. He looked at his hand and saw the pale, tattered bandages that wrapped them safely. The dry blood beneath his nose and on his chin had ceased to itch but he new it was their, staining his face. The whole room was practically a bloodbath, he observed as he spied the walls and floors, tainted with gashes and splatters of blood, a dark black in the darkness. He felt cold, but he didn't want to do his shirt back up. Right now, he wanted cold, he wanted fear, he wanted pain. For once in his life he didn't lust for revenge of some sought. He didn't want to lash out of the world, he knew he couldn't let himself become what Holtz had wanted, a monster. A predator bred for killing and nothing else. He had behaved the way he had because it had been what he believed in, but now that he knew the truth he realised that he didn't have to be like that. This left him with but the daunting task of becoming human. He would escape, he would find Angel, wherever he might be, and he would join him to fight for his humanity by his side.

Suddenly he broke from his involved thoughts and reissued his command. "Answers," he said, a second time. Lynwood finally replied, "I honestly don't know what's happening, well, I know the power is off and that before that the alarm, the fire alarm, was activated. I just don't know why."

Connor frowned. "So, something is really wrong."

"Right. I thought the alarm might have been a drill, but this, I'm not sure." Connor heard his fast breathing through the stagnant air. He even began to feel himself sweat with fear. Everything was silent. As though noise itself was watching with bated breath, expecting something to jerk in the shadows, something to jump out from every, ominous corner. Connor began to feel something very off about the whole situation. He felt something, something evil, was lurking below, slowly making its way up. He felt an imminent hunt and although he didn't understand what was happening he felt a compelling urge to get something to defend himself. He could see from the window that it was not an option of escape. All of a sudden the darkness was complete, although it was just as dark before this seemed to be a part of it. He felt shadow engulf the room as he saw the buildings through the window disappear. A shutter had fallen down. He walked up to the window with a grave suspicion, grabbing a chair at the end of the table as he reached it. He swung the chair straight into it without pausing. The glass hit the floor and shattered into the room but the chair gave a cracking noise and fell to the ground again. He tapped the suspiciously complete shutter through the gap in the glass. He shivered as he hit cold, sharp steel. He frowned and began to feel fear creep up to him again.

He felt the fear powerfully radiate from Lynwood now and his breathing was panicked. Connor felt no sympathy for him. Connor felt fear creep up on him as he felt a strange presence churn beneath him, as though fear itself was seeping through the floor. He walked forward towards the door, past Lynwood. The door was open and he crept through with cautious steps, feeling he should tread lightly though he knew not why. He heard a set of footsteps behind him and turned his head to see Lynwood follow hopefully. Connor ignored him and began to pick up his pace as he the corner of the hall and continued down the next hall. "There aren't any other doors," he said aloud, making sure Lynwood understood he wanted answers.

"Umm, yeah, this floor, it's only really for interrogation." Lynwood stuttered, keeping a safe distance away from Connor. Suddenly Connor swivelled his head, looking over Lynwood shoulder and to the end of the hall after hearing a suspicious sound, a menacing creeping. He began to feel the cold again as he was reminded of the fear. But Connor let out an overwhelming sigh of relieved tension as Gavin walked sombrely into view. His shoulders were slumped and his head faced the floor and Connor noted heedfully that he also, loosely held the blood knife one of his hands. The other hand was held up against the wall to guide his way through the darkness. Connor walked up to him and held out his hand commandingly. Gavin raised his head and looked up at Connor. His eyes were wet and his face melancholy with a deep grievance. Connor kept an honestly hard face and Gavin handed over the knife with no resistance. Connor glared at him unsympathetically again then turned around and jogged back in front of Lynwood who was leaning against the wall glaring at Gavin. Connor began to jog, determined to find someway out of the building and to safety, and also fearing to remain still as though something were following him.

He reached the staircase door and, as he heard Lynwood stroll up to beside him and Gavin lumber behind, he struck out powerfully with his foot. The door crashed inwards and with it the eerie silence was suddenly snatched away. All of a sudden Connor heard sound of rushing footsteps and screams of horror churn beneath him. It was as though the building was awoken and now he knew something was wrong very wrong. He smelled death vividly down the staircase itself, which was also vibrating with many panicked voices and steps. The darkness made it worse than it should have been because he could only hear the destruction. He gripped the knife tightly as he realised why he hadn't heard anything before. "This room," he began," this floor, it's all sound proof, isn't it?"

He swerved round to face Lynwood to find a stunned and fearful face before him. He heard a chilling cry of pain echo up the stairs and felt the need to hurry. He looked over to Gavin and saw not the expected solemn, depressed but a strangely determined one. He frowned as Gavin simply leaned against the wall and looked past him at the stairwell, smiling eccentrically. Another scream erupted from the stairs. Lynwood was stuck in a despairing gaze so Connor entered the stairwell and peered down through the middle. He could plainly see that they were high as far below him he saw frantic scrambling figures, screaming and running. He could only make out movement through the darkness. 

He didn't know what was happening but he knew that it had nothing to do with the people behind him. It seemed the whole building had become a giant trap. All the windows blocked by sturdy, steel covers, and he assumed the same for the outer doors. He couldn't get his head around why the building would be built like that. He could also see Lynwood had no idea either. Suddenly a limp shadowy figure fell over a railing and Connor watched it tumbled down the stairs. People were being attacked. A couple of people had sprinted to the stairs just below Connor, but before they swerved around the corner he heard a close, petrifying scream, then another. He breathed in deeply and suddenly sprinted down the stairs, gripping the handrail to keep himself from toppling over as he swerved the corners, ready to fight the attackers. He swung the last corner before he saw a couple of lifeless bodies lying face downwards on the stairs. Lining the dark walls were black streaks of blood. He noticed a fading of screams below as he inspected the area. The onslaught must be slowing. He looked around for the killer when, suddenly, something lunged out of the darkness at him, the man had been just in front of Connor, hidden in the shadows. Connor saw the knife held forward and twisted to the side, avoiding the blow then striking up with his knee, hitting the stumbling man in the chest and sending him into the air. Connor caught his neck and held him against the rail. He inspected the man as best as possible in the darkness. He bore a blank expression and an ordinary face, His body was of typical size and bulk and he wore a blood stained suit with a blue tie. Connor grabbed the knife from him, giving him two in the same hand. He glared into the man's vacant expression and frowned in complete confusion. Still frowning, he threw the man over the rail and watched as he dropped from view silently and swiftly. Although he didn't want to do anything proclaimed bad in this world he could never feel remorse for a killer. His stomach churned as this sparked thoughts of Angel. 

Suddenly a heavy cry of shock came from above him, interrupting his impromptu thoughts. 'Lynwood' he thought, and raced back upwards. As he reached the floor below the one he had entered from, a body flew right past him, just above his head. It slammed into the concrete wall and slumped to the ground. It was Gavin. He had been thrown, with unnatural force from the level above. Connor gulped, but feeling the blood of a warrior run through him, he gave his other hand a knife, so he had one in each, and resumed sprinting up. He skidded into the open doorway of the interrogation level and saw Lynwood being held in the air by a single, straight arm, gripping him tightly around the neck. Connor jumped into action. He ran forward and swung the knife upwards, cutting through the air towards the wrist of the anonymous arm. Another arm, belonging to the same person, swung up from behind the edge of the doorway and mightily grabbed Connor's hand. Connor's eyes widened with the shock of how powerful this unknown foe felt, as he found himself unable to move in the slightest by his powerful grip. Suddenly a horrifying crack cut the air and Connor looked over to find Lynwood's head leaning against his back in past agony. Connor felt anger build up inside him. Although he hated Lynwood, Connor he wished to renounce uncaring thoughts. He could find humanity in himself by valuing that of others, however faint that might be.

The hidden warrior released Lynwood and Connor then disappeared behind then door. Connor stepped back and rubbed his crushed wrist in searing pain. He was sneering with anger now and was determined to fight this man. He jumped sideways, doing a mid-air flip into the hall. He flipped right back onto his feet and landed leaning against the wall. Glaring forward with his fists clenched and his body on fire with the promise of battle. The man was still standing right in the middle of the hall a few steps back. He was wearing a long, black coat that lay silently at his ankles and a deep blue, untucked shirt. He had dark black hair that seemed almost artistically unkempt, as did almost everything about him. All in all he seemed an average man in every way, although he had a handsome face and there was something about him that just seemed to make him perfect. As though everything he wore, everything about him was the way it should look on people. It almost made Connor wonder what every other person he'd met was missing. The man's deep blue eyes gazed piercingly and eerily at Connor and he felt fear being shoved into his mind by his cruel and unwelcome stare. Connor's sneer began to dim as he noted the playful smile spread across the man's face.

They stood in line with each other for what seemed like eons. Simply scanning each other as they stood, unmoving in the darkness. The noise below had died down now but for the occasional scream and Connor heard every one of his heavy breaths in comparison to the man who stood before him, separated by but a few metres of hall and Lynwood's corpse, whose breathing was unnaturally silent. Connor could have almost believed him a statue if it were not for what he had done before. Connor had felt the power from the man before him. But then, as he stared in apprehensive awe he began to wonder whether this imposing figure before him was really a man after all. He felt a weird vibe, or something, he couldn't put his finger on it. He heard a couple of gunshots echo below then finally cut his daze and posed the question.

"Who are you?"

The man's eyes did not move, did not blink. It was as though the question had gone right through him. Finally, after a long pause the man's smile widened and he opened his mouth to reply.

"I am the risen. I will bring about a new era, well, ultimate death really, but era is a great word."

Connor frowned uneasily at his threatening reply. Such a merry voice when speaking of death unnerved him greatly.

"What are you talking about?"

He smiled. "You're right. Why am I talking? Though I do love the English language I did come here to take my prize, and enjoy it." The man began to stride excitedly towards Connor as he spoke, smiling merrily as he etched forward. "You see, brother, you and I share the knowledge just as family should. We both understand the big picture, pain is the only thing that matters, pain and death. All the things Angel speaks of, feels, his love, his compassion, his selflessness, they don't matter, not in the least. All that matters is what we do, how we effect things physically. Being angry with someone is but futile emotion, enforcing vengeance is everlasting glory. Holtz taught you this, without you understanding it's not how humans behave, not how they work. I tell you now Connor, ever since you've been here you've your supposed kin, you've witnessed what they can do, nothing. They are weak, they are born and they die, most of them achieving nothing. You, Connor, are above them, you understand the weak fabric of their humanity' and you despise it. I'm here to finish their existence, as has always been planned, you, as my brother, will stand with me at the end."

Connor felt the corners of his eyes begin to dampen as his brain frantically mulled over the passionate, deadly words. The man, or thing, seemingly knew everything about Connor, down to the deepest depths of his soul. And with his knowledge he felt the man twisting his emotions, though he did not know why. The man was, in fact posing so many fears and so many dreadful questions he could almost not bear to listen. He covered his ears and screamed, waving his head to shake the thoughts from his mind. He suddenly locked his eyes onto the man, who, he hadn't noticed, was now practically in his face. He pointed his finger at him fiercely. "Shut up! What the hell do you know about me, About anything?" He saw the man smile, ready to reply with a wordy remark Connor didn't want the man to speak any more, he hated every one of his words so much so that he could not bear to listen; he almost felt them corrupt him, with some shadowy force. "If you know all about me as you seem to, thenthen, who are you? Why are you here? What are you talking about? What do you mean BROTHER?" He shouted.

"Come now, fellow sibling," he taunted, "you know how to treat family. Holtz made sure you knew all about that, didn't he? Oh, but wait, you've had a revelation of soughts." He chuckled mockingly, "I promise you, you woke up with a different point of view, it isn't exactly going to shake the Earth." Connor glared angrily, though he still did not understand what he meant. He tried to close off emotions as he listened, hoping to have some of his questions answered. "I'm just saying, as far as revelations go, it ain't that relevant. Pretty soon the whole Earth is going to be doomed, and right now, I'm offering you the chance to watch the world end, to see those you hate end."

"I that why you came here?" Connor demanded.

"No, but thanks to the employees of Wolfram and Hart, they gift wrapped themselves with you. , An excellent package. This planet should be cake."

Connor forced himself to ignore the last statement, though logging the questions in the back of his mind. "You did this," he stated, pointing to Lynwood's disfigured corpse lying on the carpet. 

"Clap clap for the handicap. I sure did. Killed the lot of them. Well, there might be a few still around but, trust me, they won't last."

"Why are you killing them?"

"I need them, just as I need you. On the subject of you, how did I get so sidetracked? From now on I stay on topic, the choice. Come with me now and watch the world ending, or become a part of the world ending."

Connor shivered with doubt at the question and although the strive to be good was a small part of it, he knew it was his determination and bravery that would keep him fighting. He smiled at the man, though the tears forming in his eyes most likely made it weak. He knew that he was far too illogical, far too hardheaded and arrogant to let himself be helped by anyone. He loved that he felt so sure of himself and kept his smile as the man frowned with disappointment. 

The man sighed, and then, with out so much as a split-second warning his arm jabbed out to the side of Connor's face. It cut through the air and hit Connor's head before he even had time to react. He was blown off his feet and the force rung through his head fiercely. His body suddenly shuddered with searing pain again as he slammed into hard concrete, slumping to the floor and feeling the debris of concrete fall over him. Tiny bits of crumpled concrete covered his head and shoulders and a thick cloud of dust still hovered the air. Connor blinked a few times, opening his eyes to a blurry haze. The pain was prevailing throughout his body; he felt as though his bones were still vibrating powerfully. He struggled to his feet, still barely able to see, especially through the darkness. He also found himself rendered incapable of thought. His mind was still screaming with pain and shock He slowly began to recover as he scanned the darkness. Suddenly a deep movement of black in the shadows alerted him. He struggled to react though, only limply placing his arms in front of him to stop an attack

Suddenly the recognition from his hands came to him. He felt knives still tightly gripped in either hand. He gripped them more tightly and his vision began to come back to him. He saw the darkness with clarity now, and was on his toes for anything. Footsteps suddenly erupted into the silence of the stairwell. He pinpointed the location of the sound in front of him and grinned as he made out the shadowy outline slowly approaching. He flipped the knife in his hand and caught it by the blade, swinging it back past his shoulder and releasing it in a deadly accurate strike. The knife gave a whoosh as it sliced the air. He waited with bated breath as the figure stopped about four steps from him. 

He began to shiver with fear again as he remembered the powerful blow the man had struck. He felt a panicking fear of helplessness creep up on him, in the solitary darkness. He jumped as a sharp footstep cut the tenseness of the air. He looked forward in horror. The man had resumed stepping forward methodically, one step at a time. He had made no sound at the blow and just continued on his path as though nothing had happened. Connor began to panic with fear and threw the knife at the figure recklessly. This time the footsteps did not pause and the man stepped down to right in front of Connor, leaning over to face him.

"Now, now Connor. No need to resort to such crude weaponry, I cannot be killed." he finished with a pointed scoff.

"Why are you attacking me?"

"Because it's fun, and I figure I might as well pack some fun into these final days."

"You won't end the world!"

"Why is that?"

"Because I'll kill you! Angel will kill you! You will FAIL!"

Connor spied a sharp, menacing glint by the man's side. The man smiled when he saw Connor's face crumble. He raised the knives in his hands to Connor's face to affirm his fearful suspicion. "That's right, I _actually _caught the knives in the air!" he said, emphasising the jovial sarcasm. Connor began to sweat and tremble with fear, gripping onto the desperate hope of escape would no longer work; he could no longer stave off his fears and now, though he still fought by the tether that the man mightn't intend to kill him, he truly felt death's hand reaching out to him. Pain was tearing open his wounded body and fear struck every thought he felt. He closed his eyes, awaiting the jolt of pain from the knife. Biting his lip he leaned against the wall with a powerful sense of despair.

No pain came, not his own scream, but a deep, cruel laughter echoed about the silent, bloodstained building. He opened his eyes suddenly and looked at the man, who bore a mischievous grin. "Now the sweet smell of fear, I find engulfed in the mighty odour of death. Connor, my boy, I expected more. I guess you are but mortal after all, but human, but weak."

"Shut up!" Connor spat.

"Ooh, that hurt. I really wish I could kill you, boy. But I can't, even if I wanted to."

Connor looked up at him with a morbidly curious frown.

"That's right, brother. You and I are part of something big, from now until the very end we are immortal. You can be wounded of course, well, you've already found that out haven't you? You may be wondering why I'm telling you this, and, I'll tell you that as well. It doesn't matter what I say or do, the end is inevitable, the revelation is near and there is no way to stop it."

Connor gazed fixedly at him, shocked by the powerful words that the man spoke. He tried to join the dots together but couldn't find what all of this meant. He knew one thing though, this guy wasn't lying, he had no need to, and right now he knew only one thing. He had to escape, he had to find Angel and he had to kill the man in front of him. Connor grinned and swung his arm forward with tremendous might. He intended to miss, and as the man ducked to the side to avoid the punch Connor continued his powerful swing. As his arm twisted back around him he carried his leg through with the force, swinging it towards the man's face. He heard a deep thud as his boot smacked the man in the face. Connor watched in delight as the man's body twisted in the air and crashed into the stairs above. So he can be hurt.

Suddenly Connor heard a sudden onslaught of clanging footsteps below, as though he had awoken something. He looked to the side, down the next turn in the stairwell, to find a group of figures charge towards him. He frowned as he saw they all bore identical clothes, and more horridly, identical faces. They all appeared to be exactly the same, and he recognised them too. He had thrown one down the stairs earlier. They all sprinted forward in a cluttered group, there had to by at least 30 of them, a small army. Connor didn't pause, his confidence had had a sudden jump and even if he lost he would fight to the end, if he was mortal that is. He swung his body around as he struck fourth with his leg, sending a sharp kick into the leading man's face. The man was blown off his feet and fell backwards, toppling others over as he tumbled down the stairs. The front of the group had all fallen backwards so Connor took the chance to glance back up the stairs. The man was back on his feet and once again methodically stepping down the stairs towards him. Connor's heart was pumping now and as soon as he saw a dark black object lying on the stairs in front of both him and the man, he dived for it. The man must have dropped it. He dived up the stairs with his hands outstretched and swiped the dagger, placing his hands firmly on the step and flipping upwards to his feet. He was facing the man now, only three feet in front of him at the most. He heard the clutter of footsteps behind him resume as he jumped forward, knife held ready to swipe.

He was cruelly caught off guard as he was about to cut through the air at the man's neck. Suddenly he felt a mighty blow to the chest and that, combined with the powerful forward motion he had built up, sent him soaring backwards off the stairs. He collided into the concrete once again, shattering the same spot as he had before, once again inflicting a downpour of dust and small debris. The pain had been unsuspectingly and mercilessly inflicted once again, this time in the chest. He tumbled to the ground, unaware of the many identical faces looking down at his wriggling body gasping for breath, awaiting their master to strike again. He came slowly once again, taking each step religiously, loudly and rhythmically, enforcing a cruel wrath of fear upon the struggling Connor. The man walked right up to him, ignoring his men beside the body, and grabbed his collar. He lifted Connor to his height, so that his legs were slightly above the ground. Connor was beginning to regulate his breathing and opened his eyes. The man smiled his trademark smile, a full-hearted grin of delight and wicked pleasure. "Whydoing this?" Connor managed through forced breaths.

"Why? Oh, that's easy, it always is, because I can. I have to make you learn that, though you now trust in humanity, a last minute anomaly in the scheme of things, you're trust is unfounded. You have to feel the pain of being alone and soon you will stop fighting."

The man swiftly raised his arm, knife poised threateningly in front of Connor. "Consider the easy way Conner" He swiped downwards with the knife with deadly speed, hitting him right in the shoulder, the blade protruding from his back. Connor let out a blood-curdling cry as blood began to soak into his pale shirt. The man kept him held in the air as he watched him struggle with pain, the knife still firmly imbedded in his shoulder. The man grinned as he ripped the knife harshly out of his torn flesh. "And cry over the choice you took, never forgetting, that it doesn't matter, it's never up to you. You are alone, no one is here to help you, no one, especially not"

"Me?" A refreshingly warm, yet commanding voice came from the stairs above. It was Angel. 


	13. Risen's Fell

Hi people! Haven't updated for a while, about two weeks. But I'm back and this chapter is one I enjoyed writing and think you'll like. Once again thanks for all the great people who review! I love reviews! No recap this time. If you've lost the place, just read the end of the last chapter.\

Enjoy! Oh, and Tariq, sorry about the absence of Gunn or Lorne this chapter after yu asked for more of them. There will be more. Everyone will have an important role!

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Apocalypse Nowish

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Chapter 13- Risen's Fell

Abruptly Cordelia felt herself breath, felt herself feel. It was as sudden as a shot from a gun, a sudden snap to life Yes, smiling she breathed heavily; every exposed inch of her soft skin tingled with the coolness of the air. For what seemed like the first time in her life she breathed in the refreshing air, felt it, and saw it. She felt as though she had been reborn, awoken from an eternal sleep. For a long time she did not think at all, simply marvelled the sky and everything she could feel every sensation. This was the strangest, yet most powerful feeling she had ever had. All of her muscles ached with a strange tiredness and she found she was unable to completely control her arms or legs, as though she'd forgotten how to do so. They felt heavy and disproportioned. Even blinking felt strange to her. Lying on her back, she felt the cold, hard concrete beneath her.

She soon began to stir from her hazy slumber and actually began to consider her surroundings. She was in a wide, open alley, short buildings either side of her. The alley was empty but for her silent body and a calm, affectionate breeze. She felt a certain eeriness about her location, feeling as though she had been there before. She sat up and looked around, scanning the alley with cautious eyes, her mind suspicious, feeling she was being watched. There was nothing there, it was deserted but Cordelia began to find a certain familiarity about it, the short, passive buildings either side of her gave her a distinct memory of the place. Her mind was beginning to race now, memories and thoughts flooding the damn of calmness within her brain. She began to breathe quickly as the memory of ascending gloriously to the stars hit her. Jumping to her feet, her mind spun as did she, scanning every sight around her whilst cogitating wildly. Memories clouded her; the ascension, Angel, all of them hit her at once, yet she frowned with grimly suspicious air of mystery. She remembered how happy she had felt, how fulfilled, how wondrous, as she had flown up into the clouds, her white dress gleaming with a holy radiance, but nothing beyond that. She could remember ascending to the higher plane as her last memory and now she was here, in this uncannily familiar place.

The air around her was damp and she tasted the moisture as she breathed, pacing impatiently under the gloomy shadow of deep black clouds above. She had to keep her head straight, she thought, running her hands through her short, brown hair in frustration. She could not think calmly, instead thoughts left havoc in their wake. Had she been bought back and wasn't supposed to remember? Or was it something different? She remembered Skip was there, her demon guide. The powers that be had chosen her, so, for whatever reason she must have been bought back. Suddenly she paused and gazed up at the city in front her. Beyond the alley was a perfect view of the city, its centre. She was about one kilometre from the sharp bundle of skyscrapers that towered over the city. It comforted her, giving her a welcomed, relaxing feeling of being at home. She smiled as her thoughts dimmed, glad to be back. She couldn't wait to see her friends again, and Angel. Now she knew she'd never be happy anywhere else but here, fighting with the team, the family at Angel Investigations.

Engulfing the city was thick, foreboding clouds, moving powerfully through the air, as though threatening to consume the very sky itself. It had already consumed the comforting blue of the day behind its blackness. The cloud cover was complete all the way into the distant edges of the horizon.

She shivered suddenly, feeling a sense that the clouds were watching her, ready to strike. She shook her head, knowing that that was insane. Still the cloud cover did look unnatural to her, in some way she could not pinpoint.

A slow, distant yet powerful rumble hit her ears and she paused, feeling vibrations in the cool damp air. A sudden crack leapt mightily through the sky, cutting her sight to the city before her. Knives of white cut through the sky and danced in front of the city. The lightning was vicious and seemed to be, in some strange way, evil. She turned back to the alley again and stared at the concrete road. It was wide and baron. She felt safe here. Another growl shook the air and flickers of light flashed across the shadowy road from behind. She thought she'd better get back to the hotel, find the others and give them a run down, she felt that last step important as she felt a secluded fear that something was wrong with the Earth.

As she turned the corner of the alley she noticed one of the doors to her right. She had been here before, often. Suddenly everything came back to her, the place, what it meant to her. This was Lorne's club, and the alley, to which the club backed, was the spot where Connor had been born. Right in that road, perhaps even where she had been lying, she thought, beginning to feel something sinister about the situation. She had been brought back from wherever she was and returned on the very spot Connor was born. She remembered that day, the trauma of it. The rain pouring over the road, Darla lying in pain in pools of cold, dirty water, bringing down the stake to her own heart, tears oblivious by the rain.

Halting her thoughts she began to run from the alley, not in fear but in urgency to return home, to speak to Angel and the gang, tell them what had happened to her. She frowned as she ran, realising she didn't even know how long she'd been gone.

Angel stood mightily at the brim of the set of stairs in front of Connor and the man. He grinned with a confidently at the man, who had just turned around to face him, still gripping the knife imbedded in Connor's arm. Angel's face bore many cuts and bruises, clearly showing he had fought recently. His body heaved with an unwanted tiredness that came from the many battles he had endured to find his son. Thanks to Lilah who had slightly redeemed herself in his eyes by pointing out that Connor had been captured by Gavin and was in the building, he had managed to fight to this high floor after hearing his scream in the hallway. He had a sword lowered cautiously to his side and right now he glanced at the shocking scene in front of him, it was even more shocking than the bloodbath the army of mysterious warriors had caused in the unescapable pit Wolfram and Hart had become. Many more of the men he had fought to find Connor were gathered around his limp, bleeding body, hanging back only slightly like vultures over dying prey. Connor himself was being held harshly against the shattered and crumbled concrete wall by a tall, imposing man, strangely different to the others he had fought. He shivered as he glanced at the man's cold blue eyes, sensing an unusual radiance of power and a blatant display of evil. His eyes were ice cold with a slick hatred that unnerved him, and his smile almost made him back away. That smile, the innate confidence, security and wicked pleasure, even as he pushed the knife deeper into Connor.

Angel saw the shape his son was in and was almost ready to jump at the man, his sword swung fourth with vengeful valiance. His shirt was ripped open, revealing a bare and bruised purple chest and streaks of blood across it. His face had a despairing visage of unbearable pain through the blood and bruises. His hand was bandaged and soaking red and now a knife ran into his shoulder.

"Angel." He was suddenly awoken from thought and glanced back to the grinning man. He frowned at the ominous fact that the man before him had just uttered his name, of course, he was slightly infamous amongst the demon community. He didn't return the formality in his sudden response. "You want to talk? Take that knife out of my son."

"Oh, Connor here? Yeah, sorry about that, it's just so much fun to see tears at the eyes of those who displease you."

"Well I can tell you I'm about to have a whole lot of fun then." Angel quipped.

"Indeed. Why do you feel the need to rescue this boy? Granted, he is your son, but he recently tried to kill you, remember?"

"You're the boss aren't you? The leader of this rag tag bunch of silent assassins? Bowled over about a hundred of them back there, sorry about that, oh, and, take the knife out."

"Ignoring my words? I can honestly tell you that this is all for fun. I mightn't have all the time in the world but I've got power coming out of my ears, and right now I'm just waiting for you to try me."

Angel heard footsteps and looked behind him to see Wesley and Lilah take positions behind him.

Connor felt blood and sickness churn painfully within him and every nerve under his skin struck him with pain and weariness. The knife was in his shoulder still and he was biting into his lip to stop himself screaming out loud. He felt the blood soak into his shirt and he strained to concentrate to gain power of some sought, to fight back. He had almost given up hope, then, just seconds ago Angel had stepped into the picture, smiling coolly and bearing a slender long sword. Now he was just waiting for the moment to make his move, right now, through the unheard mumbling of the two men, he knew Angel was biding his time due to the risky position Connor was in. All he had to do was break the man's hold over him. He breathed deeply, afraid of the pain yet too determined to stop, and swung around his left arm, bringing it down on the man's arm that held the knife in place in a fierce chop. He felt his shoulder scream with pain as the knife tore into him further, yet he saw the man's arm being knocked away by the force and the surprise of the attack. As soon as his hand was away he grabbed the knife in his shoulder, still with his left hand, as he dared not move the other one. He breathed in and ripped it out. He screamed out loudly and deeply with the sudden pain. His sight went slightly haze and he stumbled forward. He shook his head and fought the pain, jumping to his feet and glancing at the knife he had ripped out of himself. The jagged and rough blade had small chunks of flesh and the knife was completely red. He looked up to see the man throw his other knife at Angel.

Angel bent over backwards as the knife skimmed over his head, almost hitting Lilah and Wes. Taking the opportunity to attack he lunged forward off the top step and flew towards the man with his sword poised for the kill. The man saw and spun around to the side, completely avoiding Angel and getting in a swift kick to his side. Angel, taken back by the surprising force, slammed into the already damaged concrete. He landed on his feet though and saw Connor swing at the man with his dark red knife. The man leaned back over the railing to avoid the swing and kicked Connor in the chest, sending him into the wall opposite. Connor fell to the stairs and tumbled down a few steps. Angel grimaced as he saw him struggle to get up, and spit out a dribble of blood onto the steps. Angel stared up at the man in awe, marvelled at his impressive agility and shocked by his unnatural power. He was suddenly caught off guard by one of the identical men from the side steps. He caught a punch in the face and stumbled backwards. Getting his balance, he lashed out with his sword, slicing across the neck and sending a thick streak of blood into the air. The man began to laugh as Angel began to slice and punch at the many men now attacking. 

"Angel, never underestimate anyone. Fight as though everything was a brick wall. Oh well, now you know nothing less than a tank can really be used against me. You fool."

Suddenly a comforting click echoed in the noisy stairwell. The man swivelled around, with a look of pleasant surprise on his face, finding himself practically face to face with Wesley, who had a large black gun held tightly in his hands, pointed right up at his face. The man kept his smile and winked at Wesley as the shattering sound of gunshot cracked through the stairwell. Blood splattered against the wall of the stairs across the centre with a surreal suddenness and the man tumbled over backwards, over the railing. 

Angel saw the deadly blow and gave a final kick to the chest of the man in front of him with all the power he could muster. The man was knocked back into the others and they fell over collectively with the force. Angel took the second he had to sprint forwards, scooping up Connor effortlessly and slugging him over his back as he passed Wesley, running for the door above. Wesley turned and followed behind, keeping his eye on the horde below. Lilah turned and followed them back into the interrogation level, closing the door behind her. They all head the clattering of hundred of footsteps from the stairs behind it and immediately turned for the prepared escape route.

"So much for a tank." Wesley said, as they rounded a corner to enter a hall with the safety of the open elevator doors at the end. They began to run down it as fast as they could, knowing that the men were hot on their heels. Wesley and Lilah paused near the start of the hall and held guns at the ready. Lilah had out her handgun and Wesley held the automatic shotgun.

Angel saw Dylan standing ready in the elevator. Dylan had been lucky to stumble into Lilah's office when he did; otherwise he would be almost certainly dead by now. So would Lilah, if she hadn't tipped him off about Connor, he had thought of abandoning her, maybe she knew it. Dylan had the escape panel at the roof of the elevator opened at the ready and as Angel entered the lift, helped him raise Connor through on to the roof of the elevator, in the elevator shaft.

The speedily approaching and amplifying footsteps had Lilah breathing hard and sweating with fear. Wesley looked over to her, with a calm complexion. "Are you ready?"

The footsteps were becoming nearer by the second, giving a tensile fear to the air. "As ready as...yes."

"Connor's up, we should start walking backwards slowly now."

"Got it." She said through bated breath. She felt ready to jump and just then, as she considered that fact, a menacing horde of the identical men jumped out from behind the corner. They all bore bloodstained shirts after their battle with Angel and they didn't even pause as they swerved the corner in an aggressive sprint. Lilah and Wesley instantly let lose a volley of bullets upon the men, and they mowed through the fast horde, their bodies were dropping in waves. The sharp splatters of blood against the wall added to the constant clattering of used shells to the ground, creating a deafening melody of battle. Lilah and Wesley began to jog backwards when they saw that Angel and Dylan had already crawled up through the roof. Then, when they saw the endless swarm of opponents still charged fourth, oblivious to the consequences, clearly indifferent to fear, they turned and sprinted. They ran into the elevator, and, as Lilah shot out through the doors, Wesley began to push them to a close. The men were advancing far too fast for Lilah to stave them off, and, just as Wesley slammed shut the thick metal doors the reached the elevator. They thumped hard against the door and both Wesley and Lilah jumped back when moulds of fists began to punch into the door. Lilah gasped as the thick steel in front of her reached forward with a sharp clang.

"Powerful." Wesley muttered to himself, but Lilah had already turned her panicked attention to the open hatch above. Angel's hand protruded through the hatch. "Quickly." Angel said reassuringly. Lilah stepped over the cluttered gun shells and grabbed on to his arm, pushing herself up with her feet against the wall as Angel pulled. Wesley waited with his face to the door and a hard frown. He stared at the rapidly appearing dents in the light silver metal. He heard Lilah get through the hatch and turned to it to be helped up by Angel.

Wesley scrambled up through the hatch to find Dylan attending to Connor with the lowering ropes they had brought with them. Lilah was leaning against the wall opposite him, pulling out her magazine and quickly scanning over her remaining ammo. Although they had, to a certain extent, already planned out the escape the constant pounding below reminded them that their chances were hanging and that they were in a game of survival. Wesley tucked the shotgun under his shoulder and approached Angel, who leaned against the wall next to Dylan and watching Connor with a pained expression. "How is he?" Wesley asked hopefully. Angel looked up at him, as though he had been suddenly woken from a deep dream. "I'm not so sure," he said grimly, "he's been bleeding pretty badly. My shirt's soaked with it. As Dylan continued to fiddle with the ropes Wesley checked out the group and was morbidly surprised at how wounded they all seemed to be. Lilah's face was splattered with tiny drops of blood and her thin white shirt was torn and sprayed red. She had a surprisingly fearless and determined visage, perhaps even angry. Angel gazed at the floor solemnly, oblivious to the cuts and bruises that littered his face and body. His dark shirt was, as he'd said, wet with blood at the shoulder, and it was torn down the centre to about the fourth button down, revealing a lot of his sweaty chest. Dylan was practically fine, which wouldn't be excusable if he hadn't been such help. He had somehow managed to shy away from combat all the way and was, as such, only sweaty and slightly puffed. In fact Wesley was sweating severely as well and he was beginning to feel that the warm air was getting thicker, and lesser.

He looked over to Lilah as her gun gave a click signifying the magazine was back in place. "Ammo?" he inquired sharply. She looked over at him with a grave expression. "6"

He frowned grimly. "2" he replied.

"We're ready." Dylan's refreshingly warm and enthusiastic voice cut the thick air of dread. The banging below was quickly getting louder and echoing more, implying the door was becoming weaker, bending to the force. They all looked at each other briefly before Angel grabbed the long sword he'd propped up beside himself on the wall and took a step towards the cables that held the lift in the shaft. Dylan finished a knot on around a sturdy looking pipe against the concrete, using the rope he'd tied to Connor. 

"Everyone grab on." Angel said sternly, before taking the rope in one hand and swinging the sword fiercely and precisely in the other. He hit the steel cables with an impressive vigour, even by his standard. The cables split and the lift suddenly began to shake. Wesley watched at the elevator doors through the hatch and grinned as the identical men felled the door and barged into the elevator. He jumped back as one of their hands struck out through the hatch. But the elevator had begun to fall and built up speed. He felt disoriented as the lift fell beneath him, leaving him unsupported in a deep, dark chasm. He gripped the rope tightly and looked down into the depths of the shaft, watching the final glint of the roof of the falling elevator. Lilah and Angel where below him on the rope, which now swung towards the concrete wall Dylan had tied it to above. Wesley swung his legs around and collided softly with his feet. The others did the same. He turned to the door that the elevator once occupied to see many of the identical men hover at the edge, lingering back in the shadowy door whilst watching their every move. Wesley shivered as he felt the men's lust for their death and looked away with the reassuring knowledge that they were too far from the edge to reach, even with a huge jump.

"Come on." Came a slightly panicked voice from above, Dylan didn't seem so sure about the safety of their distance from the doorway. Wesley felt the rope tug and swing and saw the others quickly descending. He followed suit, speeding up to catch them.

Dylan had connected Conner to the rope with a strong clip and Angel was holding on to him, slowly and carefully letting him down. Lilah had the lead and she was conquering the rope with valour. Wesley had his gun tucked tightly under his shoulder, not wanting to lose the comforting weight of a deadly defence. A loud, crash echoed up through the shaft, shaking the walls with a deep, mighty rumble. The elevator had met its doom; it made Wesley shiver how long it had taken for the noise to reach his ears, reminding him just how much of a fall lay beneath his feet. He kept climbing, holding on with all the strength he could and taking cautious descending grabs.

The shaft was eerily silent but for the occasional grunt and tug of the rope. 

"Alright Lilah, you're the woman with a plan, what do we do next?" Angel said, through heavy breaths. Wesley had been about to pose the very same question.

"I thought I'd never see the day you'd actually trust me." She replied, teasingly.

"Neither did I, and if you'll ever trust me, believe that it's only temporary. You've got us this far and I know we have the same intention." He said resolutely.

The ropes rattled as they talked in the darkness, each other only shadowy figures to their eyes. The doorway they had originally left was now lost to the murky distance above, but all of them still felt the tense feeling of urgency.

"Well, the next step would have to be getting the plastic surprise from the toy department and blowing the crap out of the sandbox." Said Lilah, determined and sure of her plan.

"Huh?" Angel said, looking up at her with a furrowed brow.

Wesley smiled to himself, knowing quite well what she meant, and knowing it was going to work. He suddenly pondered at his own resolute hope throughout this whole event. He realised that, not once had he been afraid, not once had he feared for his life or for the lives of the others, because somehow, for whatever reason, he had known they were going to make it. All the death had barely even phased him either, but that was for a different reason, he feared. For a long time now he had been losing his ability to care for anyone he hadn't met, through all the death and pain he had lived he knew what really mattered in the world, not the lives of an individual but the lives of many. Through this philosophy he felt himself slip from the emotional capacity of a normal person, now, it seemed, he only cared for people who mattered, who were important. This gave him a sharp, fearless edge in battle he needed to defeat enemy's of the same skill.

Dylan quickly cut into the conversation before Lilah could translate her strange explanation. "Of course, C4! Charlie bought loads of that into the building yesterday for some big operation."

"So the plan is blow up the front door?" Angel said, unsure.

"Yes. Like?"

"It'll work." Wesley said loudly and knowingly, trying to assure Angel would go with it.

"Alright, explosion is on the agenda. What floor do we enter to get it?"

"14th floor, isn't it?" Dylan asked Lilah.

"That'd be our bet, it's the armoury after all."

"Wolfram and Hart has an armoury?" Angel inquired, mildly surprised.

"Yes," Wesley replied bluntly, "but remember the building is full of those demons. They haven't stopped hunting us, they won't. We'll open the door to a horde of powerful warriors and find we have a couple of bullets and a tired swordsman to fight them."

Everyone fell silent at this, knowing how true his words were. Wit and hope almost left the room altogether but once again Wesley found himself astounded to find Angel and Lilah unfazed by his cruel reminder. Bravery came naturally to Angel, but Lilah, she seemed strangely empowered, maybe she felt the same way he did. Still the tired group pressed on down the shaft, into the depths that may soon be their graves.

They descended until Lilah halted abruptly. The others stopped and looked down at her expectantly. The air between them fell tense as she nodded to the door beside her.

"13th floor." She affirmed.

Wesley shut off his thoughts so as not to incur fear through approaching the door. He felt the shotgun under his arm with his hand, caressing the smooth steel. This was his ticket to getting out. He saw Lilah twist her gun around in front of her face, assessing it for battle. All of them bore deadly stern expressions, and grave frowns. They were all breathing heavily in the stale, hot air, their skin blanketed by sweat. 

Dylan was feeling slightly scared, but, although he didn't have any weapon he found himself to be quite brave and calm in the face of danger. He was, in fact pleasantly surprised at his own ability to act in a crisis, although everybody is a surprise when faced by death, except Angel. He had been lucky, as had Lilah that Angel and Wesley, two skilled warriors had been assembled in her office. Unlike the others he had never faced anything like this, and he was still horrified by the death and gore he had seen in the halls here. He felt that as soon as all the fear and adrenalin wore off, he'd just explode a screaming, vomiting mess.

"What about Connor?" He said. He noticed Angel stop and think hard, showing he'd failed to consider it himself.

"He can wait out here, I guess," he paused for a moment, "I guess someone, Dylan, should stay here with him. They don't seem very smart but, I'm not sure."

The others nodded in solemn agreement, but for Dylan, who nodded gleefully, publicly grateful for the offer.

"Alright guys," Angel cut in sharply, "this is it. Let's show them what 6 bullets and a wounded swordsman can do."

Wesley smiled approvingly towards him and received one back when Angel caught it. Dylan had distanced himself from the conversation, plainly thankful this didn't apply to him. Lilah didn't bother even so much as looking at Angel, as she was poised impatiently at the closed doors, waiting for the command. Angel moved towards the door to open it when Wesley spoke loudly, his voice echoing in the shaft. "Before we go in, Lilah, you can't miss with that gun, in the head every bullet. This has become a game of survival, to survive we have to fight to the best of our ability." The room fell silent for a moment, expecting there to be more, then Angel resumed climbing down to the door.

Soon they were all there, but for Dylan, huddled around the door, with Angel, holding his sword in the centre. Angel breathed in deeply and shoved the sword point first into the slit of the doors. The others watched, almost shaking with fear at what might be behind the door. Angels shoved the sword into the handle then pushed it across with all his might, hoping to wedge open the doors. The sword managed to just open up a slit in the metal doors before it began to bend, Angel didn't pause. He ripped out the sword and threw it behind him. Wesley caught it as Angel shoved his vertically pointed hands into the small slit with an abrupt and mighty jab. Angel's face crumpled with determination as he tried to pull open the doors with but the tops of his fingers imbedded in the slit. Either side of Angel, Wesley and Lilah pulled out their guns and pointed them at the metal door, poised ready to fire the moment the door flew open. Angel screamed out suddenly and the doors flew apart. The doors seemed to move in a slow manner, though trying to emphasise the horror that might be behind it. Angel had fallen backward from the force of his pull, and, as he grabbed the sword back from Wesley, gripped the rope tightly to balance himself. The doors hit the edges of the doorway and both Wesley and Lilah shoved their guns forward, the triggers half pressed.

With an uncanny suddenness the tensile air had been completely shattered. The window of mystery that had inspired fear in them all was broken and revealed nothing. They all let out a silent sigh of relief as they looked deeply into the dark, empty hallway. They paused for a moment, regaining their complexion. Angel resumed the journey as he swung into the empty hall from the rope. He began to jog on ahead, stopping at every junction and cautiously peering around to assess for ambush.

"OK, Lilah," he said, stopping at the third junction and waiting for them to catch up, "where do we go?" They both jogged up to him, Lilah was panting a little but Wesley was breathing deeply and calmly. "Uhcan you just follow me?" She begged.

"OK, just don't be too slow, Lilah. Remember Connor is still out there."

Lilah resumed the jog, though slightly slower. They travelled through the deep, dark, and blood stained halls of Wolfram and Hart for a long while. They often had to avoid corpses and pools of cold blood. Finally they arrived an important looking room with a large steel door inside it. Beside the thick steel door was a small keypad against the wooden wall. She put the gun to the keypad.

"What good will that do? Don't waste" Wesley shouted. The loud echoing sound of a gunshot cut off his voice completely. The small electrical keypad blew apart from the centre, sending bits and pieces of plastic and wires everywhere. As the debris fell to the ground around her, Lilah grabbed Angel's sword off him. Both Wesley and Angel were watching curiously. She jabbed the sword into the centre of what remained of the keypad and it crashed through the plastic back. Wesley was surprised to see not the wall behind, but another object behind it, in the wall. Lilah shoved her hand through the hole in the back of the keypad, smiling as she grabbed hold of the comforting steel handle. She pulled it down and took her arm out. A loud click came from the door, though it did not move. "Emergency manual lock. Very few know of it, I'm not supposed to." Wesley nodded at her, impressed. Angel grabbed the handles on the front of the door and groaned as he pulled it open. Wesley noted the amazing thickness of it; it looked to be about thirty centimetres pure steel.

"Say, Lilah," he began as they followed Angel into the large, metal walled room, "on the subject of knowing, you wouldn't happen to know why on Earth Wolfram and Hart was designed the way it was?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, why the hell they thought it necessary to install retractable, reinforced steel plates over every perimeter exit?"

She shook her head grimly, having considered that many times herself since she so cruelly found out. Suddenly her faced brightened into a powerful gleam of hope; she was looking into the room with a glorious smile. Wesley too stopped in his tracks, beside Angel, to admire the view. He shook his head with a grateful delight. Before them, in the dark room sat a huge stack of explosives, lined against all the walls, racks of weaponry with huge stores of ammo above them. Just as they were prepared to load up, Wesley spoke. He suddenly bore a cautious frown, "Don't you think it's a little weird that no one else tried to get here? I mean, surely the security knew where to find this, but none of these rifles have been touched."

Both Lilah and Angel caught on to what he was implying with an urgent speed. "You're saying the identical guys knew this was here?" Lilah asked hastily.

Suddenly a haunting beep hit the room. Through the darkness a glimmer of red appeared in the explosives, numbers. Wesley turned to the door after seeing the first number tick away, only to find it being speedily closed before him. There was but a gap of ten centimetres as he looked around, and the door was closing quickly. Lilah screamed the words at the top of her voice then, but he already knew it, without electricity there was no way they were going to get out of the room.

Father above in the complex of Wolfram and Hart a vast whiteness consumed a room. In the room a deep, blood red spot of colour was present in the blinding whit. A little girl, she sat neatly on a chair in the middle of a sea of white, frowning innocently at, not what she saw, but what she felt below. Death, the thick, consuming sent of it lurched below her. She could here every scream, every wail of despair that had parted lips in the inescapable labyrinth below. Usually she'd welcome it, being a prisoner to the company and all; she wished them death with every minute of the day. But now, she knew why it was happening, it wasn't some half-assed evil planning on ruling the world, no, she'd seen them come and go many a time, this was a prelude, a sign, to the end. The senior partners had contacted her, they often did, this is why Wolfram and Hart kept her up here with such high regard, she, and a few other immortal beings who still walked the Earth, were the only ones who could see them when they came. Last time they had come to her it was to inform Lilah of what was to come, then they told her, in vivid detail, the coming apocalypse. It had been planned since the beginning of this world, and they told her it could not be stopped. They told her that Lilah was the wolf.

She suddenly felt an imposing presence behind her, she sensed power, breathing deeply onto her neck. She turned her head to spy behind her, there, a deep, foreboding black against the white stood a tall man. He wore a long coat that sat at his ankles, and a deep blue shirt. This was he, the one to end it all. Her frown deepened; she knew why he was here, not to stop and chat; her blood would soon meet with the floor. 

She stood up and turned to face him, bearing a hateful visage. The chair in front of her suddenly disappeared into nothingness as she walked forward towards him, angered at his persistent, gleeful smile. His deep blue eyes pierced her own, cunningly incurring fear in her heart. She did fear, as an immortal one, she was destined to live forever, unless murdered, that is what she feared, death, just as any human does. They stood before each other for minutes before she finally spoke, hoping to disrupt the dreadful silence.

"You come here to kill me? Why? I am not a sacrifice to be played with!" She ended with a shout.

"Every lamb has blood, and you, are but a lamb, however powerful you are." he said, calmly.

"I will not let myself be taken by you, you know that." She replied, harshly.

"You, yourself know that fighting is futile, this isn't some apocalypse to be averted. It isn't about to happen, it isn't happening; the end of the world is past, you just can't see it yet."

"Then leave me to spend my final days in peace" She screamed at him, as he approached slowly and menacingly.

"Sacrifice is not conditional, you will fight, you will die by the name of the Sinice."

"The senior partners do not want me dead!" She shouted at him, urgently, panic invading her voice as he stepped closer.

"I assure you, they want everyone dead. The last of the Earth's warriors, ones who might fight me, will soon be dead, but then, fight as they might, they could never win."

"They seemed to fair pretty well the first time you traded blows."

"Yet here I am, Not a scratch on my body! I have the power to play with them."

She suddenly realised that, while they had been talking he had walked right up to her, and now looked down, smiling cruelly. She had tears forming at the corners of her eyes, knowing that her death was inevitable, was pure, utter despair. It quickly turned to anger. She would keep her promise, fight for her life, no matter how futile. She had power; there was no doubt about that. She screamed at the top of her lungs and as she did, drew the thick power she had into her fingertips. They went black with the pure, dark, energy that swelled within her, ready to strike. She launched forth her hand, with her fingers pointing forwards, and felt the magic flow through her and into the air around her. 

The many sharp jets of black magic that erupted from her fingertips shot out at the man. She smiled as she saw him shocked by the power and it's speed. The magic hit him and he was blown of his feet and far back into the white room, tumbling over himself when he hit the floor. 

He smiled as he quickly jumped back to his feet and stared at her. Only he knew that the jets were harmless. He began to run towards her, the hundred metres between them flying beneath his feet. He was fast and covered the distance within a second, with his hand outstretched and a malicious grin.

The girl had had not time to think, no time to even realise she was about to die, no time to smile her last smile, utter her last word; she just died. With a cruel suddenness he was standing in front of her, his outstretched hand protruding through the back of her head. He was holding up the limp body as blood trickled to the floor, a burning red on the brightness. He took his arm out of her head and her body collapsed to the ground, in a puddle of blood.

"Now you see it," he said, smiling a cold smile, "the world is gone."


	14. A Bloody Greeting

Hello everyone! I know I took ages with this chapter, and I'm sorry, but, if it's any consollation, it's big and it's bad. Well, not bad, but, badass. If you get what I'm saying. Apologise for the delay, here is the start of the really apocalyptic chapters.  
  
Remember to review!! Thanks. Enjoy.  
  
**  
RECAP**  


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1792, Luxembourg:

"I take it you're Asheara." Angel met a white-robed priestess who spoke to him of the world inevitable end.

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Angel broke into Wolfram and Hart to find Wesley, who'd been captured by Lilah in trying to determine her fate in a prophesised apocalypse.

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"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."

Lilah found a place she could research what she had been told. A ghostly appearance of scrawled words that spoke to her, told her to take a marked book. She was attacked by two, identical human-looking men.

She captured Wesley to translate the book. Wesley discovered about the two men,

"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."

He discovered a line of text crucial to the coming apocalypse.

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.

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Gavin and Lynwood have been killed. Connor met a powerful man, clad in a dark leather jacket and with deep blue eyes.   
  
"That's right, brother. You and I are part of something big, from now until the very end we are immortal. You can be wounded of course, well, you've already found that out haven't you? You may be wondering why I'm telling you this, and, I'll tell you that as well. It doesn't matter what I say or do, the end is inevitable, the revelation is near and there is no way to stop it."

  
He was knocked out by the man and rescued by Angel Lilah and Dylan. They fought their way up to the weapons room to get explosives for their plan of escape (Blow out the front of the building) and were almost shut in.  
  
The man killed the girl in the white room.  
  
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**Apocalypse Nowish**  
  
**Chapter 14- A Bloody Greeting**  
  
  
  
  
  
The man was smiling with satisfaction as he held the lifeless corpse of an ancient demon, though supposing he had a soul to bear it would not seem that way to his heart. Even in death her face remained an innocent texture and her body that of a sweet child. Her eyes were still open, he mused, as he glanced at her, noting her odd gaze up into the eternal roof of white above, though in death she had risen somewhere. Yet he felt no compassion, nor the yearn for it, as he was soulless, a sharp, sleek killing machine nothing less. And as he dropped the body to the floor, it landed with a harsh thump, a cold heavy thud that destroyed anything poetic about her death or life after it. Suddenly he smiled to himself, feeling an arousing tingle flow through his body. He sighed with content as he defined the sensation that came over him, relishing the fear he felt from below him as he always did. Loving every wave of despair and terror he felt churn beneath him, he let out a sudden and wickedly hearty laugh. He knew that fear was all he was likely to receive from this building tonight, as he knew that, despite the situation they were in below, they would survive. Not only did he know it he counted on it, for he did not want them to die yet, those people below whom had been so conveniently assembled here were important.

An eerie phasing sound came from behind him and he whipped around to face it, his jacket tailing behind. There against the void of white stood a leather coat laden man, with a similar smile to the man who was now inspecting him, not with surprise but an impatient interest. He who had just appeared into the room with a spacey sound was standing straight, his face cold and fixed, clearly unhuman in its thoughts. The other man, his striking blue eyes studying the stern gaze with a stumped brow of interest.  
Breaking the drawn silence the blue-eyed man spoke first. "And this is the part where you clap hastily then sternly remind me of Asherea," he said, with a slightly cheeky grin. The other man wasted no time in replying, as though he wished to incorporate efficiency in to conversation.

"Do not underestimate her," he said coldly, his face a harsh glare, "lack of failure in the past doesn't guarantee success in the future, and you know there is a chance." His voice remained consistently stern as he spoke, a blunt drone.

"She knows, ergo she is a threat." He continued.

"I assure you she is a priority." he replied assuredly, though the man answered with a forcefully expectant look. "_The _priority," he hurriedly re-concluded. The man nodded approvingly and turned his back to him, speaking a little more warmly as he walked away. "I'm sure you'll add this to your history of success." And with those final words he began to disappear, as though consumed by the white around him. The man turned his head to the floor as the other man faded to white behind him, and stared at the white. Once again, through his preternatural sense he felt the blood and fear of battle begin to swell bellow, gathering intensity and force. It flowed through his body once more and he closed his eyes to savour the exciting tingle. He stood like that for a long time, amongst the ghostly silence of the room, but a statue beside a lifeless corpse.

Both Wesley's mind and body moved in a sharp and efficient unison that he prided himself on, whipping the shotgun previously lodged under his arm into action and turning to face the closing door as he jammed it between the door and the wall. The door crashed to a halt against the shotgun and Wesley pulled the handle down, the barrels facing up and right into the face of a man behind the door. He grinned and a cruel bang shook the air around them, the man's face no longer staring at him through the gap. Blood splashed sharply through the gap that the shotgun held between the door and the wall and hit Wesley in the face and across his shirt. As he heard Lilah and Angel jump into action behind him, without thought or worry of any kind he pulled out the shotgun and once again tucked in under his arms as he groaned with the weight of the door his was tugging open. It slowly slid open until he felt other grab the handle on the other side, then he leaned back and grunted with all the might he could muster. Blood was pumping through his body now and his heart beat fast, so as did his mind, devoid of all thoughts and considerations he was now the killing machine he'd become. This was the side of him that took over in a crisis, the dark side of his soul that was willing to do anything to get what it might want, the sharp, logical mind that had been born when he'd let emotions take priority, when he'd taken Connor.

He looked back behind him to see Lilah hastily grabbing at the weaponry in racks on the steel walls around her and Angel scooping up a black sports bag that he assumed to be full with plastic explosives. "Angel!" he shouted as a succession of sharp clicks hit the room. Angel swung the bag around his back and ran up to the door just as it had began to slide backwards. He looked over when he heard the clicks as Angel grabbed it behind him, his power hitting the steel, to see Lilah standing with a large, thick black assault rifle held tightly into her hands. He was about to instruct her when he saw her quickly jog up to the wall facing the slight gap in the door. Holding his words he watched her quickly aim the rifle and squint with concentration, impressed by her coolness under the situation. "Let's make it easier," Angel said, noting the involved look of concentration present on her face, his eyes occasionally darting to the red digits in the shadowy room's centre. He nudged Wesley and, following his lead they both dived away from the door, releasing the confronting force they held against the many men pushing behind. The door swung wide open as they hopped backwards, struggling to stay standing, revealing a crowd of stumbling men. All of them identical and falling forwards with the sudden absence of confronting force, disoriented by it. Wesley swung his head to Lilah to make sure she was ready to fire, as he knew they wouldn't be unbalanced forever. Yet a sudden and powerful awakening of sharp cracks sliced the air and pulled at his ears, answering his question. He looked right into the room almost full of the men and watched as bullets rained upon them, sudden bursts of blood flying into the air and hitting the walls and men behind. The sound of fire and the bullets to flesh was accompanied by a tingling sound of the empty shells falling to and bouncing across the ground. Their bodies writhed and twisted unnaturally as they were knocked back by the bullets, flipping over backwards, falling to floor or against the wall, as the bullets collided with them with a harsh suddenness. 

Even Wesley was beginning to feel sickened by the waves of death that crashed upon the floor in front of him and he was breathing heavily, unnerved by the bodies sprawled cruelly across the ground. Suddenly the loud cracking of gunshots ceased and Wesley looked over to Lilah as her gun gave a final, defeated click. As she released the cartridge and let it clatter to the floor he swung his head back to the scene in front of him. About five of the men were left and now they charged fourth with a seething visage of hatred. Everything seemed to happen slowly now, and he felt all of his companions move quickly as he did. He flicked out the gun from under his arm and caught it with his right hand, his finger already tightly wrapped around the comforting trigger. He lifted the gun up as Angel began to run past him to meet the men, his sword raised above his head and he cried fiercely as he charged. Wesley quickly aimed the gun with an innate precision and squeezed the trigger. The man fell over backwards as the bullet hit him in the face. He looked over to Angel to see him take a punch in the face. Diving forward at Angel's attacker Wesley flipped the gun in his hand and caught it again so that now he held it by the butt, the handle making an effective weapon. He smacked the man across the face and his body twisted with the force as he was knocked back against the steel wall. Looking to the side as stood back to full height he saw Angel's sword shimmer past him, and he followed it to its target who grunted as it shot through his head. Noticing an incoming fist just in time to swerve around it, keeping his balance as he dodged it by hopping backwards. He twisted around the man who threw the punch and elbowed him in the side of the face, sending him flying back into the steel room, of which he was now in the doorway, Angel just ahead of him.  
  
Another click echoed amongst the scuffle and just as Angel swung a mighty punch, knocking down a man a short burst of shots whizzed past him, sudden splatters of blood hit the wall and the man fell. Wesley looked over to Lilah who had swung her gun to the man he'd knocked back into the room, putting the gun to his head and executing him as he struggled to stand up. Silence descended once more, until an abrupt and shocking beep reminded them of their predicament. Everything from the moment Wesley had jammed his shotgun between the doors had seemed to be a rush and now, as Angel began to jog forward around the corner of the next room and Lilah, after throwing Wesley a loaded rifle followed, was no different. It seemed there was a rapid drum beat shaking the floor and his mind, forcing him to keep to its quick rhythm. He dropped his shotgun to the floor and gripped the rifle as it clattered on the ground. He began to hear the drumbeat now, realising it was footsteps, running footsteps, and many, as though a stampede charged them. He wasted no time in pulling the door back towards him, relieved as he heard it click softly.   
  
He ran through the room that lead to that armoury and out into the halls from which they had entered. Angel and Lilah both stood there, Lilah with her gun held at the ready, slightly trembling with the tenseness that engulfed them. Angel stood straight, with his sword held at his side and a large, heavy bag held over his back. He had a strong air of concentration and Wesley could tell he was listening to the approaching footsteps, the ones that rattled the floor with their power. He gazed down into the darkness of the hall before him, blood splattered walls either side, eventually enveloped in the darkness beyond the capacity of his eyes. "Angel," Wesley said, unlike the others seemed to be, aware of the situation, "we should move." Angel looked as though a bucket of water had been thrown into his face, bucket and all. He shook his head, clearly having been drawn into the thick, sweaty air of dread, and quickly reverted to a serious and commanding visage. "Let's go," he said, aware that both Wesley and Lilah looked at him curiously.  
"I put a muzzle on the explosion, closed the door. The steel should hold a lot of the blast." Wesley said quickly. Angel nodded with approval and Lilah looked over to him, her face devoid of emotion but for a rock-hard determination, though he could tell she eyed him with respect. Another short moment passed and then Angel burst into action, sprinting down the halls the way that they had come and away from the ever-approaching noise. Both Wesley and Lilah jumped into a sprint and followed him as best they could.

Cordelia felt the smooth wooden door handle as she carefully and quietly closed it behind her, purposefully attempting to remain oblivious to the solemn crowd scattered around the lobby. They didn't look too bad, not on the usual tragedy scale, tipping Cordelia that no one had died or been kidnapped since she had left. She was relieved at that but they still bore strange expressions of heavy thought that told her something was up, plus she noted that only Fred, Lorne and Gunn were present. She frowned softly as she listened in on the conversation.  
  
"So," said Lorne, far more lightly and enthusiastically than the others looked, "what's the plan of action? Is there a plan of action or possibly my variety of plans in which action is absent."  
"Plans would be good but I'm just not sure that we need to worry about anything, I mean this could just be a panicky paranoia thing." Gunn spoke doubtfully.  
"Or perhaps one of those pesky apocalypse's, you know the apocalyptic type." Fred said hotly.  
"Hey!" he said in a lightly hurt tone, "All I'm saying is: Angel can handle himself if something big goes down, and, unfortunately we can't. So what good would it be for us to roll up without a hand to lend?" Fred's face cooled a little as he spoke though she still seemed determined to do something. For she alone had seen what she'd seen and the others could not understand how it'd felt, like the eye wasn't on the screen, as though it was in the very room watching her gleefully. None of them felt the sharp wave of cold that had struck her and the profound sense of evil that had reached out to her through that dark, smiling figure. Smiling. Yes, she remembered the feeling, every second of it and she was not willing to simply discuss what she'd seen, rather she yearned to take action.

"And we'd be rolling up on shanks' pony, which despite our steadfast legs is not the kinda thing you want to roll up to death's door on." A sudden realisation hit both Fred and Gunn and they sighed with exasperation and a hint of agitation. Silence froze the air once more and Cordelia remained still in her spot, a short smirk on her gleaming face, however dour the situation was she still was pleased to see them. She stood there in the silence a little while longer before she couldn't stand the tension, "Come on guys! Sing the Hyperion anthem and knock that door down! No door too deathy for my gang!" She exclaimed merrily as she happily viewed the dumbfounded faces staring at her with wide eyes and growing smiles. The silence remained for a little while longer as the gang reeled from the sudden shock of her abrupt contribution.  
  
"Cordy" Fred cried, suddenly erupting with joy and glee as she ran up to her and embraced her in a warm and hearty hug. Cordelia happily returned the enthusiasm and smiled at her as she stood back. Gunn walked up to her briskly, an unbelievably relieved and cheery expression slapped across his recently whethered face. He slowly advanced in a hug, but suddenly found himself tightly embraced, and with a smug grin, as Cordelia pulled him in. Lorne looked very happy, though, of course slightly less sentimental

, Cordelia noted, as she stepped back from Gunn and glanced around the room. Gunn, standing beside Fred, eagerly gathered around Cordy watched as Lorne approached. "Cordelia!" He shouted in a jovial astonishment. She grinned even more than she had been, the joy of the reunion consuming her. It was welcomed in its strong disburden, and its appeasing forsake of woe, fears that she had carried of uncertainty. Until just then as she walked into the arms of her friends, she had not known where and when she was.

"Lorne!" She shouted back playfully.

He gave her a light hug then sat on the step next to Gunn. Cordelia walked into the middle of the lobby, feeling the lightly curious eyes follow her as she gave the room her eye, from the roof to the top of the tall ceiling. She felt warmer and warmer as she felt the sense of home she had longed for since her harsh arrival, and the love that smiles behind her carried, feigned not, they welcomed her earnestly.  
  
She noticed the royal marble floor was devoid of the dark red pentagram, but, thankfully, less that, it was the same place she had left. "Well, is everything up to scratch?" Gunn asked merrily. She looked back over to them and smiled, seeing them patiently assembled. "Well, you get points for the lack of pentagrams."  
"Yeah, Fred and I had way too much time on our hands." He laughed.  
"Not that we didn't look for you of courseBecause we did, a lot." Fred added, finishing rather frantically.  
"Yeah, about that," she said in a deep, serious voice, "how long was I gone?"  
Fred gave a short glance to Gunn, not exactly a grim one but certainly doubtful. She wasn't sure how Cordelia would reply, as she had no idea what had happened to her. "About a week. Not that long, really. I mean, as long as you weren't, you know, trapped in a demon dimension. Pylea anyone?"  
  
Lorne snorted then looked to the side, with a short grin. Cordelia smiled, relieved that she hadn't been gone for too long. "No thanks, and I guess that'll be your second question, where I was? Well, just bear with me for a little longer, one more question then you can interrogate me. Where are the others? Well, maybe not Wesley, but, Angel, Connor?"  
  
"Yeah, that's the question we've been asking all week, it's been hectic. Where's Angel, where's Cordy, where's Lorne when you need the green machine, where's Connor?   
  
"What do you mean?" She said, darkly, her face harshly devoid of it's previous merriness.   
  
"Oh, no, no, it's alright, we found Angel," said Fred, noting Cordelia's deep sigh of relief.   
"And me." Said Lorne.  
"Yeah, and Wesley's doing ok, he's the one who found Angel, God knows how."  
"All, good news. Me like. Connor?"  
"Good news or the bad news?" said Lorne, taking the lead for a change.  
"Good."  
"He's not here."  
"Bad." She said, again sharply, though this time in a grimly curious tone.  
"He put Angel in an air tight steel container and dumped him off the ocean."

The others, though having long discarded worry over this, apprehended her dumbfound silence and the room was soundless for a short while, as Cordelia's pale face of shock slowly recovered. "Well, looks like things didn't exactly turn out for the best."  
"I hear that." Replied Gunn earnestly.  
"So, Cordy, tell us, what the _hell_ happened to you?" Asked Lorne, the others, looking over to Cordelia with the same ardency he did, all of them eagerly awaiting her story.  
  
  
  
Dylan shivered again as he heard himself breathe, not because it was cold, far from it, as the sweaty air was thick as water. No, he shivered with fear, for, although the empty and vast shaft retained a gloomy silence that accompanied its desolation he heard sharp sounds and a constant every more audible rumble of footsteps. He feared, not only for the lives of Angel and Lilah but for his own and after all that he had seen here to day, how his entire life had been turned upside down in a matter of hours, his mind was wandering into the darkness that loomed above and below him. He hadn't yet felt the pain of seeing those he knew fall to the ground in a puddle of their own cold blood, their eyes devoid of humanity or life, but now he felt it creep up on him and he found it harder and harder to think for himself. Rather he fell more and more in to deep thought and despair. He looked down at the limp body just below him, swinging slightly on the steel rope; his arms and legs drooped down to the darkness below and his lifeless eyes gazing above. His torn open and slashed shirt was covered in blood and his chest faired little better with the wounds he bore. A pale, only slightly stained strip of blue could be seen wrapped tightly around his shoulder where Dylan had tended to the wound and bandaged it with his own sleeves. Dylan felt a spark of rewarding hope at the fact that he had done something good, confidence now kindled from his own endeavour from time only shortly past.  
  
He gulped down his far and took control of his shivering, sweat covered body. Now focused he could hear the footsteps thundering ever closer, and the occasional crack of a gunshot only slightly muffled by the thick walls around him. He looked over to the open lift door and turned to face it, breathing heavily and staring dutifully in its tensile wake. He waited and waited, though only a few seconds since he'd faced it he felt as though he'd stared away a lifetime. Suddenly, in the darkness through open jaw of the lift a group of hurried figures brought dancing shadows to his eyes. They were turned to the lift and sprinting with all the speed in the world, straight at him they came. Behind them he suddenly saw a tightly packed bunch of men swerve the corner the others had just seconds ago emerged from. They too sprinted as though whips hit their backs, though they ran with a hateful aggression unlike the fear that drove the others ahead. Suddenly Angel's face and flapping coat came into view and he paused at the lift door as Lilah and Wesley, side by side caught up to the open doors and, without pausing for a second dived off the edge and caught onto the rope. Dylan hastily climbed farther up as they grabbed the rope, Wesley but inches below his feet. Without pause, as the rope swung wildly around the shaft, they held fourth large rifles and pointed them in unison through the doors. Angel gave the doors a hard tug and jumped through as they hit each other suddenly. He landed below Lilah and the rope shook uncontrollably again. He gripped the thick, heavy book that was held under his arms more tightly as they swung fiercely, knowing that it was important.  
  
Dylan's mind was hit by the sudden commotion and was shocked to see Lilah, Wesley and Angel doing everything so fast and efficiently as though they were in a panicked yet powerfully coordinated state of mind. They didn't stop even now as the constant and threatening thuds that were being powerfully indented into the closed steel doors, and as Dylan's mind was panicking they bandaged their hands, and Dylan began to see the plan. "Dylan. We're going down. Get ready." Angel said sharply as he tied a ripped stretch of his shirt around the centre of his hand. Dylan followed suit hastily as the thuds continued to hit the shaft, and the door, which was now bending outwards and littered with deep fist-shaped lumps. Lilah did the same, so now everyone's clothes were torn and shredded, stained in blood and sweat, but for Wesley who took out his brown leather belt and tied it around the rope and tightened it as hard as he could. Dylan pulled the last knot tight as Angel suddenly plummeted down into the darkness below. Wesley loosened Connor's knot and let him drop so he too fell like stone, though still loosely held to the rope. He began to shiver with the prospect of sliding down now, as Lilah, looking slightly worried slid downwards. When she was no longer in sight Wesley, holding the protruding belt strap left over from the tight wrap around the rope slid down the rope, his jacket flapping behind him with a slick whoosh.   
  
Dylan shook his head and let out a nervous sigh, loosening his tight grasp and sliding down the rope, drooping into the deep, dark shaft below.

In a room of black and white, a dark figure with his head facing the floor, an attentive grin spread across his face stood against an eternally bright void of light. He was watching things below in the dark, blood stained halls. Watching with his mind, feeling every fear and drop of blood through his body. He felt the ground rumble at his feet, only literally this time, not but a feeling from far below. It shook and then quietened once more.  
  
_The bomb...  
  
_He smiled as he felt Angel and his friends below, scampering about in the darkness. They had survived but he was neither surprised nor unhappy, for he wished only to bring fear to them and this world which he had only just stepped upon; it was ripe for the picking. His men crawled after Angel below but he knew they would not catch him, not Angel, the champion, he always pulled through in the end, little did he know that the end was nigh and it could not be stopped.

__

I'll give the World a wake up call...  
  
He thought to himself with a wicked glee and an excited sensation that only came to him when he incurred fear and enacted destruction. Putting his hands up in the air, and out from his side though he was embracing the air above, he looked up into the sky, his face gleaming with joy. His hands began to clench together and shake slightly and his body trembled as he felt power surging through it, from his fingertips to the end of his toes it came in unbelievably powerful waves. Soon, though not in this white room as it was not a physical room as known to earth, he began to feel the earth tremble beneath and around him. His hands shook more fiercely and as did the ground of the world, everywhere from London to below Angel's feet it shook. He breathed in deeply and tasted the turmoil all over the world it was thick in the air just as panicked car alarms, splitting concrete, and shattering glass was on the streets. He began to laugh loudly, his voice empowered with a tone of sheer delight. The powers above were giving him power as they always did, it fell down to him in this room, from the Sinice, or Senior Partners as they made themselves known man on Earth, and from the Powers That Be.  
  
Willow was walking down a charming hall in Buffy's house, it's white walls and mellow carpet gave a sweet aura of comfort and that was what she always felt here. Comfort, something she sought in every minute of her day now, her confidence and the trust she once had in herself dashed recently, and the sorrow still dragged her heart down in the darkness, at night in her sleep. It was but a few weeks since she had become evil, since she had thrown all of her friendships upside down, and even now she found herself hard pressed to care for that, her friendships she used to hold so dear, now nothing, no one seemed to matter. Tara was gone and, though constantly occurring in movies and everything involving death it hadn't left her with a hole, not just that. It had consumed her. Tara's death had changed her, thrown everything she thought she cared about out of perspective, or into it, however life really was. Now she cared little for anything and all though she felt grief for the pain she had inflicted on her friends, and they had accepted her back, even still she lived here, but she felt no love for them, nor anything. Yet she lived on, and occasionally enjoyed herself, but, although she was not in a stew of grief and sadness, she was but an empty shell, rather than weep or mourn she just blocked everything out.

She strolled down the steps and turned in the kitchen. Dawn was at the table and Buffy stood behind the central bench, leaning over it and watching dawn, clearly they'd been in conversation. She walked in, gave a short smile to them both and opened one of the top cupboards, reaching for a box of cereal and placing it on the bench next to Buffy. "Hey Will," Buffy said warmly.  
  
"Good morning!" replied Willow, as amiably as possible. Dawn looked up from her bowl of cereal expectantly. "And to you too of course." She hurriedly added. She gave a weak smile then turned around, and as she reached for the cupboard once more something hit her. It crashed into her mind with such pure suddenness it knocked all though out of her mind and pained her. Falling to the ground she gave a sharp cry and gripped her head. "Willow!" Shouted Buffy.  
  
Willow had never felt anything like it, and it screamed through her head and body, purely feeling and sensation yet so dense that it burned her. Fear, doubt, a fierce image of fire and blood ravaged her mind. Dawn and Buffy had ran over to her, and tried to control her struggling body, grieved by the pained expression on her face. She continued to scream and writhe as suddenly the earth gave a shudder. Buffy shivered as she felt it beneath her feet. No it rumbled constantly, building up force shaking the whole house. Pots and pans clattered and banged against the sound of shattering porcelain and breaking glass. Dawn's bowl had slide off the table and crashed to the ground and everything propped on benches and cupboards seemed to follow suit. As Willow screamed behind her Buffy looked around, a suspicious frown on her face, knowing well earthquakes always spelt trouble.

A young woman strictly dressed in grim business attire walked briskly down a wide hall with offices either side, all containing stern men behind desks either on the phone or just looking important. There were a few other men who walked past her, all in tight, neat suits. She reached the end of the hall where a grand, rich oak door stretched across the wall, it's radiant brown made it imposing face at the end of the hall. It's striking significance held something over the room, as though it was watching all who worked there. She swung open the doors and walked onto the luscious red carpet that royally lined the floor. Closing the door behind her she looked into the centre of the room where an old, senior man sat in the wake of a dark wooden desk, with thick legs and much decoration. He was ever majestic against the strong light that shone through tall windows behind him, and by the rich and dignified room he occupied, shelves and bookcases lining the walls and adorned by lavish objects. He looked up at her and, taking off his glasses, he smiled in an unnervingly warm manner, as though he meant well but it went against his nature and the usual expression on his face.

"Lydia," he said in welcome. "What brings you to me today?"

"I have the report, on noteworthy supernatural occurrences, sir." She said quickly and professionally.  
"Excellent. Is there any mention of the slayer? I still wish to keep close tabs on her and her friends, and especially the witch, after recent events she poses quite a threat to the council."  
"Agreed, sir, but news of the slayer is harder than much to attain, though reports so far indicate that she has continued to live as normal in her residence."  
"Sunnydale, yes." He said, trailing off into thought and reflection. Silence descended and Lydia walked up to his desk and placed the papers by him, smiling to him as he cogitated in silence. She turned to leave the room at that, but just she reached the large oak doors once more she felt something run through her body, an unnerving tremor.

The old man looked over to her, awoken from his bout of thought by the same, unexpected rumble. She turned to him and they gave each other curious frowns, with a potent edge of grim suspicion. The low rumble lightly shook the room again and now they both looked around with expressions of wonder. It became a harsh and brash quake soon and the room shook powerfully, many antiques balances precariously vibrated and slid off the tables crashing to the ground all around the room. As things tumbled and shattered all around the room, Quentin Travers, head of the Watchers Council rose to his feet, pushing his antique chair behind him as he eyed the room, his mind wandering fiercely.  
  
A middle aged man with light, greying hair sat back into his tall, leather seat, looking out the large window that was enframed against the sleek white wall before him and letting his mind rest. He was a busy man, his mind and voice always working hard to keep his authority status and the respect many held for him. As he did, in his highly important job, the management of such this high-end division of the military, one so secret and held in such high regard and priority. He wore pale grey uniform, not that of a soldier or an officer but one above, though he did not like to see himself that way, above others. He was more an overseer of the project, not running it directly but he linked it to the government, or the service inside the government, and they gave him orders. He took them and now he sat in this chair in a position of both comfort and significance. He was a hard man, and though he considered himself to rely on his mind above all else he never let himself down in his leadership or his own skills when it came to hard times.   
  
And now he simply rested, barely aware of the view that stretched before him, the city. He was resting in this manner when he was suddenly awoken, or at least his mind was, he always kept some of himself awake at all times. It was a low rumble and, though he thought it unusual, perhaps even impossible, he was sure he'd felt the floor rumble. He swung back around in his chair and looked over his desk thinking, waiting for something to happen, and hoping he could affirm his beliefs. The air was tense enough to be shattered when the second tremor came, shaking his desk and everything on it. It smoothed out into a constant rumble, growing ever stronger as he searched the room with a frown as though it could have been a prank of some sought. He stood from his chair and walked to the window, and looking out at the city below he knew he was in the middle of an earthquake. His sat back down in his chair and watched the show below in a bemusement, watching the chaos the city quickly fell into, no fear crossing his mind that was not quelled by the assurance of the building's quake security. Smiling to himself as he heard commotion coming from the many offices behind him, taking brief note of the event and then calmly relaxing in his chair. As the earthquake shook fiercely he put his mind to rest once more.  
  
Faith was lying on the hard concrete on the floor, looking out into the unreachable distance beyond harsh fences, and admiring the view of the world beyond. She was sweating in the strong heat of the sun and grunted as she lifted her weights for the thousandth time, her face contorted with pain. Though she was strong and resilient her slayer strength was not infinite, after long periods of hard labour it leaves her just as strength leaves anyone. She lifted the weights over her head and softly placed them on the ground behind her head, standing up as she let out an exhausted sigh of relief. Her body felt light and her mind the same, as it always did when she exerted her rage through physical labour, the very reason she spent hour after hour of her time sweating and aching. Now though, she let her mind wander, no longer concerned with all that had happened in her past, though she knew it would not take long for dark memories to surge back. She savoured the affectionate breeze as it flowed through her hair and against her hot face, and the beautiful view of life beyond the fence, golden fields and shady trees, all exquisite to her now. She slowly walked up to fence, knowing well the guard would have his eye on her, as none of the staff here trusted her, yet she approached it and placed her hands on the cruel wire, curling her fingers around it and sighing with a freeing sadness.  
  
She stood there for a long while, admiring the world in a way she could only do since she had sentenced herself to prison. Now having a totally different outlook on the freedom she had before, then condemning it as oppressive, she wished only now to be free in it. The goings on behind her did little but reach her ear and even then as but a soft drone, meaningless chatter and commotion. She was in the outdoor section which was closely guarded but nonetheless refreshingly a place of freedom, where others chose to brawl and shout and Faith to lift weights. Yet her sweet admiration of the vast landscape before and beyond was destined to be interrupted as a soft rumble sent a shiver through her body. She cut out of her dozed gaze to stare sharply at the concrete ground as it echoed the tremor, only harsher and bolder. Still staring at the floor with her usual steely glaze, the one she'd worn since she entered prison, it erupted, now constant and screaming with an unusual power that gave her a spine tingling suspicion. "What the..." She said softly to herself.  
  
"So, apart from all the bad stuff that's been going on around here, what have you guys been up to?" Cordelia asked cheerfully, once again surprising the others with her uncanny joviality.  
"Well, I went to Vegas!" Lorne said, hopefully.  
"Great!" She caught on, happy to be able to have a conversation in which the absentees were not discussed. "So, what was that like?"  
"Well, not so great, busy, yes, but, honestly, I'd prefer demon monks any day, well, maybe, as long as they were pacifist demon monks, who appreciated good singing." He finished off slightly flushed and confused at his own sentence. Cordelia smiled, noting again how good it was to be back in the game, back home. About to speak again she held her tongue as the felt a light shiver go through her body, looking around the room she saw the others had felt it too. Frowning now, all thought of conversation gone and replaced by a foreboding curiosity. It happened again, this time crystal clear and with a resonant rumble of power that shook the room, furniture moving and ornaments rattling. The gang looked around then at each other again as it erupted once more, now quaking mightily. A few seconds later, after Cordelia had eyed the moving room in thought she ran into the office, her expression panicked as she frantically caught falling items that fell from the bookshelves. The others soon aided her, all intent on keeping everything safe.

Angel hit the ground with a hard thud; his feet taking a powerful hit and the pain quickly spreading up his jarred legs, making them ache. Yet he had to be quick, running on non-stop adrenalin now he could not help but be constantly moving, and he had to be ready, as above him Connor was swiftly sliding down the rope towards him. His whole body ached and seared with pain now, his muscles sore and weary, his bones shaken with the force of his landing, and his skin cut in many places. He braced himself for impact with all the strength he could, which was little, as he nearly struggled just to stand now. He stood under the rope as Connor, still limp and silent whizzed down the steel rope, and he landed in Angel's arms heavily, throwing Angel off balance. Angel fell over backwards, the force of the explosive loaded bag over his shoulder pulling him down viciously. And as he pushed Connor tenderly to the side, checking his son's pulse once more, Lilah appeared suddenly before them, hanging onto the rope tightly with her fabric laden hands. She had screeched to a halt, looking dazzled as she jumped off to the floor, ripping off the torn pieces of her shirt that protected her hands and throwing them to the floor. She still held the rifle she had acquired above under her arm, keeping it forcefully, as though it were her child, knowing full well that she had nothing else to fend off those men. A soft, slick whizzing sound came from above and the others looked up to see Wesley descending swiftly, holding on to the edge of his belt, which gripped the steel firmly. He managed to slow his descent and his feet came to the ground softly. He whipped the belt off the rope and tightened it around his trousers again as the others stood back, watching above for Dylan. Wesley and Lilah had both shifted their rifles into ready positions as Dylan came to a halt just above steel littered ground.  
  
Angel looked around at the mess they were all standing on, huge chunks of steel and scattered debris of the felled lift made a mountain of bent and broken steel. He looked to the left, seeing the top of the closed silver doors, half buried amongst the remains of the shattered lift; that would be their exit. As Dylan jumped off the rope and stood around in the middle of the rubble, impatiently staring around at the others who were surprisingly still, all deep in thought. "You know, Angel," spoke Wesley from behind him, his eyes not moving from his fixed gaze above, "the explosion will probably blow the hell out of the door up there." Realisation dawned on Angel as those words escaped Wesley's lips, it seemed as though he had just been slapped in the face, awoken from a silent dream, one he had readily succumbed to, his tired mind and body searching for rest. Yes, his rest had been torn cruelly and now, though his muscles pained him so, he knew that they had very little time to escape from the door, that, as wide as the silent shaft might be, could quite possibly kill them all. Wesley, after finishing his unusually calm speech looked over to Angel, with an anxious expression, though Angel saw an unnerving sense of glee in his eyes, the savour of risk of death that the Wesley he once knew would never have taken to. The others also looked over to him, worried, until Angel suddenly jumped to his feet, and, as the others jogged behind him, dived to the door. He drew his arm back with his fingers strictly straightened to a pointed knife, and jabbed them as hard as he could into the middle of the two, jammed doors. Behind him Dylan was carefully dragging Connor's body over, whilst Wesley heaved as he lunged the heavy bag of explosives over his back. Angel's fingers were in and he groaned with the pain his throbbing muscles bore as he began to open the door ever so slightly. His arms were shaking as he heaved once more, Wesley putting in his own hands through the gap and pulling in the other direction. Their faces were read, and Lilah and Dylan watched anxiously, looking above and almost biting their lips with utter distress. 

Dylan knew what was coming, and he knew it was coming soon, so, feeling spent and useless he kept his eyes on the shaft above, almost in tears with a tense fear. He saw it in Lilah too, almost a relief to him after the indifferent expression she'd retained for so long. Angel and Wesley were screaming mightily now as they put all their force onto the resilient door. Just then, Dylan's fears erupted and distress turned to fearful panic as a huge rumble came from above, the building shook and the sound boomed mightily down the shaft. "Shit!" Shouted Lilah as she breathed wildly and looked around the room frantically, her eyes almost in tears with pressing fear. The sound of a deep, powerful explosion faded quickly, but just as fraught silence descended, a dreadful clung hit the shaft. The powerful sound of steel, strong and heavy steel, hitting the concrete, echoed through the dark shaft, accompanied by Angel and Wesley's desperate grunts. Dylan, still looking up, saw and felt the air around him tremble, it loomed above, the door, a small sharp glint of metal affirmed his terror and he quickly turned back to the lift. To his disbelief the lift was already open and Angel and Wesley were both on the other side, holding Connor between them as they helped Lilah scramble through the barely open doors. Looking back up as she hastily clambered through, he saw it clearly, it's imposing size sending a shiver through his spine as it sailed silently down through the darkness towards him. Lilah was through. He was sweating heavily and his breath was erratic as Wesley called him. He dived into the Elevator and began to squeeze through himself, almost crying as he pushed himself through, his mind racing with fears of being stuck. Yet he still held the book, which he'd passed through to Wesley, and now, with a huge sigh of sheer most relief he fell through and onto the marble floor, the sudden crash of the elevator door ringing in his ears.  
  
His heart was pounding and he was lying scrawled across the refreshingly cool marble floor, gazing up at he vaguely white roof in the darkness, relishing his sweet relief and regaining his strained breath. Wesley was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, and Lilah was still standing, rapidly gazing around the room unquietly, looking into her eyes he could still tell her mind was racing, restless not with fear but a bold determination. Angel lay on the floor further up from Dylan and he was all but restless, his mind and body, once again, falling into a deep trap that lay before them in their weariness. He saw it and remembered just a minute ago, when Angel had all but fallen to a deep sleep. Although he was tired also, he felt a powerful sympathy for the beaten and maimed vampire, having a strange respect for him, as though he'd come to know him as a friend in this short time.  
  
They were all worn and wearied, he didn't have to look further than the general vibe of the room, the very feeling of restless ache, itself enticing rest, was potent in the foul air. The air itself gave every movement a burden of its own; the thick odour of sweat made the air, already tensile with fear, hard and hot. Though his eyes had adjusted quite well to the deep black curtain that had been pulled over his every sight, it still unnerved him, short dreams of dark figures hiding in the blanket of shadows and around every corner.  
  
Angel's eyes were closed, and almost his mind too, certainly the yearn for it, yet even in this time of fear, tire, and looming darkness that now began to eat away at his soul, a part of him was awake in the darkness. Part of him belonged there, and, after seeing and being so much of it, darkness was like a second language to him, it was always there, and sometimes he though it was what made him such a good warrior. He had almost too much to handle of late, one tragedy after the next; it almost seemed like an eternal loop, taking part of his hope, his light, with every swing. And now, looking over to his son, lying unmoving on the floor, his shirt torn and adorned with dark blood, as his chest, he felt it all worse than ever. He needed something to tear him out of his sinking thoughts, his ever-flailing humanity. _Sinking,_ he thought, _I've been doing enough of that lately. _

For what seemed like an eternity they all rested, then, suddenly his answer came, the thing that would give him a reason to go on; it shook his mind with its force, awakening it to suspicion and the spark his life drove on. It came with an innate power, and, although seemingly natural, the earthquake shook the building with a formidable whiff of supernatural force. Watching the roof as everything shook, he saw sharp cracks emerge in the ceiling amongst a deep rattle of the groaning building. A chunk of plaster fell beside him and he sat up as the tremor ceased abruptly. Looking around, seeing, amongst the damage along the walls and roof, the others doing the same, all but Wesley looking slightly fearful. It came again, stronger than before and the building trembled in its might, the walls and roof prey to its fierceness, not yet the floor, having been constructed with the finest and strongest of stone. Angel smiled to himself, a private smile, one he'd not want the others to see, his dark side shining through in the shadow; this was how he smiled when he felt everything go to hell. He heaved as he stood up, that itself a mighty feet, and watched the empty halls ahead. He slung the hefty bag over his shoulder once more, and, hearing the others get up behind him, walked towards the front lobby, now but the next room. As he neared slowly footsteps suddenly joined the sound of rumbling earth as about fifty of the identical men rounded the corner, sneering eagerly as they spotted him. Angel raised his sight to them, his eyes, surrounded by a tired, blood stained face, cut out at them with a seemingly impossible confidence and excitement, the sweet blood lust running through his veins. He was a warrior, nothing but death in battle would stop him. He smiled as he ran towards them, bullets whizzing either side of him, hitting many in front of him, their blood thrown into the air.

The man, bathed in a glorious white, from the floor to the vast void surrounding him, bore nothing less than a cruelly merry smile, wicked pleasure evident in the crafty grin. He felt pleasure flow through him, throbbing through his veins, the passion and savour of mayhem strong in the air. He lowered his raised hands, knowing the Earthquake would attack the Earth for minutes to come.  
  
"Knock knock." He said softly, grinning ever more malevolently as he swivelled around, his jacket swishing at his side. He walked away coolly, the darkness of his attire and his visage disappearing softly into the white.

An orchestra of chaos echoed through the empty city street, devoid of people. Noise had erupted and was abundant. Car alarms, cracking concrete, shattering windows. Cars swerved across breaking streets and fires burned across the city, fierce and mighty against the backdrop of grim, ashen skies, a harsh orange to the sombre grey. A pale white truck parked neatly beside the curb shook with the street, rattling profoundly even in the havoc that surrounded it in the burning city. Sleek grey steps in front of it, leading up past luscious lawns and gardens, came eventually to a large granite block with sharply gleaming letters upon it. Wolfram and Hart. Though the letters gleamed, they gleamed dourly for the overcast skies cast but the palest light over the city, and to the very edge of the horizon. Past the steel letters the building stood, slightly shaking with the quake, not yet cracked on the outside. It's usually, clear-glassed doors were not to be seen, and instead dark, rusted steel doors covered every window and door in the building. As though it had been painted a consuming black just for the grim scenery that lay in it's shadow and the shadow of all buildings.   
  
Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a mighty roar erupted inside the building, accompanying the music of destruction that already enveloped the air. The thick, sturdy steel plates blew outwards, though they were but thin sheets of plastic, the walls of a baby's crate, a shower of glass in its wake. An arm of fire shot out of the front of the building, which was all but blown away for three storeys, and reached out over the long steps. Steel and stone littered the land before the dark building, and, as the explosion settled, against a deep yellow backdrop of fiercely blazing flame a group of figures emerged through the shattered front. Debris still landed all around them as they ran down the steps, and the earthquake still invoked its malice and might. They didn't look behind them as they ran towards the truck at the bottom of the stairs, nor fourth as fear layed whip upon their tired heels, they had little thought for anything but escape. They reached the trembling truck and, as Angel placed Connor lightly into the back of the truck, he jumped into the front placing his hands on the wheel. The car revved loudly and had already began to drive forward when Lilah and Dylan clambered into the back, Wesley diving into the front seat beside Angel as they sped off, eyes on the comforting road ahead.  
  
Connor felt a feint yet comforting sound reach his ears. He let his mind wander as he savoured it, letting it, and despite the pain that still tore at it, his body seem tranquil. He had his head against the harsh metal on the floor of the back of the track and was hearing the low rumbling of the engine, as the metal all around him clanged and rattled. Something felt wrong inside his head, and it was this incoherency in his thoughts, this nagging sense, that pulled open his eyes and awoke his tired mind to the world. Is eyes were staring into the grey sky above, an imposing sea of grey loomed above, souring the air with a chilly moistness. Yet it was not his eyes that caused him to pull himself up, with significant strain, and see the road trailing behind the speeding truck, his ears heard the chaos instantly, and powerfully as he woke. Now he looked at the savaged city behind him, fiercely luminous flames burned wickedly against the solemn sky in many corners of it, and prominently over the garden of the tall building just behind the truck. He watched the tall flames burn grass, trees and at the wrecked building. Gazing intently as it fell further from view his eyes suddenly caught a sharp silhouette of a human figure. The figure was pure black and given focus to by the yellow flames around it. As it became smaller and smaller he looked into it's faced, startled when, as a flame blazed brightly behind it a small portion of it's face was illuminated, striking blue eyes gazed right back at him, smiling with their cruel sight.


	15. Home

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Hey Everyone! Sorry I took so long to finish this chapter! Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed, and I hope to still recieve feedback from you! The chapters will probably take 3-4 weeks a go now because I'm really trying to put a lot more effort into them (Not in size but in quality.)

Last chapter was very large, so I shortened this one. This chapter really serves to further explain the story, especially with the Risen and Asherea, and bring the gang back together.

Please enjoy!

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RECAP

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1792, Luxembourg:

"I take it you're Asheara." Angel met a white-robed priestess who spoke to him of the world inevitable end.

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Angel broke into Wolfram and Hart to find Wesley, who'd been captured by Lilah in trying to determine her fate in a prophesised apocalypse.

He, Dylan, Wesley, and Lilah were the only people to escape the building and they took off to the Hyperion.

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"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."

Lilah found a place she could research what she had been told. A ghostly appearance of scrawled words that spoke to her, told her to take a marked book. She was attacked by two, identical human-looking men.

She captured Wesley to translate the book. Wesley discovered about the two men,

"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."

He discovered a line of text crucial to the coming apocalypse.

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.

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Gavin and Lynwood have been killed. Connor met a powerful man, clad in a dark leather jacket and with deep blue eyes. 

"That's right, brother. You and I are part of something big, from now until the very end we are immortal. You can be wounded of course, well, you've already found that out haven't you? You may be wondering why I'm telling you this, and, I'll tell you that as well. It doesn't matter what I say or do, the end is inevitable, the revelation is near and there is no way to stop it."

He was knocked out by the man and rescued by Angel Lilah and Dylan. They fought their way up to the weapons room to get explosives for their plan of escape (Blow out the front of the building) and were almost shut in.

The man killed the girl in the white room.

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Cordelia returned from the higher plane, which she remembers nothing of.

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The risen created a huge earthquake that actually shook the whole Earth.  
  
A gaint layer of thick, dark clouds blanketed LA all the wat to the horizon.

The risen was told to hunt down Asherea

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Willow collapsed to the ground as an ominous thought preternaturally entered her mind.

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Apocalypse Nowish

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Chapter 15- Home

A solemn air held the room's mood above a marble floor, once clean, the floor was now littered with chunks of plaster and scattered dust. A mess, just as the faces of those who paced the room idly, amongst the minor wreckage. Their heads still rang with the quake that had struck the room and the whole city just minutes before, causing, not only destruction of many precious ornaments in the very room, but beyond the doors of the Hyperion, widespread commotion and chaos. No one in the city of LA, on this gloomy day, under oppression of sneering clouds, expected the earthquake, yet it had came with a powerful suddenness that shocked the city and threw it into panic. Even now fires burnt on the horizon, sirens sounded in the warm air, accompanied by screams and shouts it was the sound of mayhem. And, to Cordelia and the others in the room, there was something blatantly unnatural about the ordeal. The clouds seemed purposefully black, as though their malice glared at the city below, coiled ready to spit their poison. They loomed above and hauntingly waited as the earth shook below, which too was unnatural, even more so. An earthquake this powerful in LA was unprecedented and unexplainable, as though it was not the earth's doing at all but something more sinister, something evil that made the earth tremble in it's laughing shadow.  
  
Cordelia, standing in the centre of the room, looked around it once more, taking in the harsh cracks on the walls and the crudely broken roof, cracked and chipped, half of it was strewn across the dusty floor. Her thoughts were dark, just as the news she had been given by Fred and the others was, news of ominous utterances, now even more prophetic after the destruction that had just blanketed the city. She worried deeply for Angel, and Wesley, despite things between him and the group of late. She still cared for Wesley and, though she was angry at him, disappointed in him, and shocked by his brashness in going up against Angel. What made it seem worse, more backstabbing, was the fact that she was away when it happened so that she could not do anything. Nonetheless she admired him as a friend, remembering all the times he had helped her she could never forget the friendship, despite Angel's reaction. Angel, yes it was him she cared for the most, and she was proud that he went to rescue Wes, perhaps a sign that he might forgive and forget. She remembered being in love with him, before the sudden blackness, and before she woke up in the street, below dark skies and on cold concrete. Yet, as with a lot of her feelings she couldn't remember that feeling, nor any of the feelings she'd held before her ascension. She felt slightly distanced from everything right now, as though, because she cared less she was less a part of the world, just watching absent mindedly from afar.

She could understand Angel's sudden charge to Wolfram and Hart. Gunn had told her he'd only been back a couple of hours before he'd made the sudden plan to storm Wolfram and Hart to get back Wesley, hoping he'd have information and her's and Connor's whereabouts. She could picture his powerful determination, one she could often see inside him but rarely on the surface, determination to get his life back. His life had been cruelly ruined over the past month and she knew that he'd stop at nothing to get everyone and everything back. Tragedy had become far too prominent in their daily lives and, as did he, she wished it all to stop. Only it wouldn't, in the least, as, though they might be a group again, chaos had awoken fear in all of them and the city itself, death and tragedy was upon them once more. She smiled a brief, yet sweet smile as a short memory of her life in Sunnydale struck her, how petty everything had been then, yet so comforting it was now, in her dark life.  
  
Lorne was leaning against one of the pale brown pillars, beside the red steps at the front of the Hyperion, beside the door, which everyone strewn across the shaken room now glared at anxiously. He was in no fine mood, as, now, fear, doubt and, perhaps regret caught up to him. Fear and doubt wrought from the unknown and the dark turmoil that had descended over the city, and regret spawned from his return to LA. He had escaped the insanity there, hoping to return and see his friends again, be happy here where he belonged, yet all he got upon return was a one-way ticket to tragedy, for which he left in the first place. He had braved all ill news up till now with a hearty smile born from a light heart, but no longer could a smile heal the worry that grasped the room, and that alone saddened him. He looked at Cordy, who was eyeing the solemn room grimly, and sighed grievingly. He himself had no fear for Angel, Wesley, and Connor, now, for somehow he felt sure that they would return soon. The fear that weighed his sigh was stronger, and it tugged at his soul with portending thoughts and feelings. He felt something dark had been born under the black clouds and his heart told him it wasn't just staying, it was growing.

  
Just as his mind fell deeply into thought a sharp sound awoke him and brought him to his feet. He glared over at the swinging door in dumbfounded awe, as Wesley and Lilah burst through it, holding a limp, unmoving body between them. Fred and Gunn moved in as well, their faces painted with joyous shock. Lilah and Wesley placed Connor on the reception desk and immediately tended to him. 

Cordelia looked back to the door, frowning as she noted the ripped, bloodstained shirts they wore, her mind racing as Angel walked in slowly, followed by another man she didn't know. The room that had been so quiet before was thrown into welcome chaos as everyone ran around frantically. Everyone except she and Angel, who Gunn helped sit down on the grey couch. She looked over to Wesley and, to her wonder and disgrace, Lilah. Wesley had made a glass of water and gave it to Connor who was sprawled over the desk, looking deathly war torn. They all did, with weary, blood-laden faces, shredded clothes stained in blood and sweat; wet, dripping hair accompanied the hellish look. Connor coughed weakly as he swallowed the water, turning his head to face her, a trickle of liquid spilling from his mouth and onto the desk surface. Her throat became dry and harsh as she frowned, swallowing and gazing into Connor's blank, lifeless eyes. Connor moved slightly every now and then but he did not look back at Cordy through his dark eyes and emotionless expression, however thoughtfully she looked to him.  
  
After she felt a tear gathering in the corner of her eyes she looked away, swivelled around. There she saw Angel, hunched over, silently staring at the floor with a hard, sharp gaze. This pulled at her heart, seeing not only one, but two people whom she'd come to adore adorned with dark cuts and bruises, and still fresh blood dripping from their hands and face. She was mesmerised by Angel, who bore no glance for others, save the floor, which he now bit spitefully with his weary eyes. As she looked at him with utter empathy she blocked out everything else in the room, Wesley, Lilah, Lorne, Gunn, Fred, they were but a quiet sound in the distance. His hair was ruined, a sight she never expected to see, and one she wished she didn't have to. As the others huddled busily around the desk behind her, attending to the wounded Connor, Cordelia walked up to Angel and sat beside him. "Angel," she said softly.  
Angel suddenly raised his head and looked over to her, his eyes now raw with emotion, blatant surprise and relief overcame his indifferent visage. Cordelia." he said, with life now evident in his voice and face, a relief to her and a surprise for he looked in a shape not fit for words. She quickly gave him a hug, and as she looked past him, he smiled broadly to himself, despite the pain that tore at his mind and body, he was truly thankful.

His heart had been warmed by the sweet reunion and his body relieved of some weariness, the part that protested his actions in despair. Though his mind could not be happy, not with all that had recently erupted in the city, he felt better, stronger, more like his usual self. He was strong against dispirit but of late the constant erosion of happiness by cruel tragedy and misfortune, clawed at his piece of mind. Between them then, as they hugged, he felt something strong click in his mind, and his heart. The joyous intimacy they now shared was not one of love, of passion, but one of friendship. He had never been sure about his affections for Cordelia, but had they met at Point Dune he was sure he would have proffessed love. Yet now, after her absence and all that transcended during it, he felt that he could not feel true love for anyone, and that friendship would be more valued. They released each other, without prolonged touch, Cordelia's warm smile telling him she'd felt as he had. They were together again, as friends, something they both realised was more important to them than love ever would be.

Fred walked over to the grey couch where they were seated and looked over Angel. "You alright?" She asked profoundly. He let out a small laugh as he stood to his feet. "Nothing to worry about, flesh wounds." He smiled to himself as he walked passed the concerned and unconvinced Fred, Cordelia trailing behind. "Wesley?" he said bluntly as he reached the table, looking over Connor with a mild frown. "He's alright, or should be soon. We've seen examples of his preternatural abilities before, so I doubt there's much to be concerned about." Angel nodded thoughtfully. "He was stabbed through the shoulder, but apart from that just a lot of bruises." Wesley concluded.  
"Poor kid's going to be sore for weeks." Gunn added cheerfully.

"And you?" Angel said, looking over to Wesley an earnestly thoughtful look on his face. "I'm ok, suffered worse." He replied, smiling to himself, and quickly looking into Angel's eyes. Something connected between them then, a short vibe in the air that gave both of them a tingle. They felt the regret in the honest glances they shared. "Well, we all just got a taste of hell, or what hell could be. Wesley, me, Lilah...Lilah, you're still here?"  
"Hey, big guy, this is my playground two, just because my gang's out of business doesn't mean I can't hang around piss you off." She said, with a sly grin.  
"But you won't." Angel said firmly, with a small grin.  
"Why's that?"  
"Trust me." He said as he gave her a sharply commanding glare.  
"If it's alright, I think she should stay." Wesley interrupted their innate banter, from behind the counter. "In case you haven't noticed there's something fairly apocalyptic going on outside, and I think Lilah might have something to do with it."  
"In what way?" Angel asked curiously.  
" I'm not exactly sure but there's a book and Lilah's story before everything went to hell, seemed to match it."  
"Whoa, whoa, slow down for the housewives here. We don't know what the hell's going on!" Gunn said.

"We'll get to that." Said Angel, with a hint of impatience.

"If Lilah's staying maybe we should keep hold of herrifle?" Cordelia cut in. Lilah, looking confused for a short moment looked down at the large and heavy object she held lightly in her hands. "Is that a rifle or rocket launcher?" Cordelia exclaimed as she beheld its size and figure. "It's a rifle, rocket launchers are commonly apt to fire rockets, this, fires bullets." She sniggered.  
"Cordelia always notices the little things, like rifle bearing enemies half a metre in front of her." Wesley said. Cordy gave a small smile, plainly her conscience disallowing her to appreciate his words. Although her feelings slightly healed by the apparent fact that Angel had forgiven him, she hadn't and every time she glanced over his rugged and raw visage she felt a shiver go don her spine, wondering what had happened to the Wesley she had once known. "Oh, and, one more thing," she continued turning back to Angel, who was beside her, "who the hell is that guy?"  
Dylan, who was standing by the far wall, grinned as she gestured over to him. "This is Dylan, my work colleague." Lilah laughed.  
"Oh, great, another damn lawyer."

"Pleased to meet you too." Said Dylan as Angel snatched the rifle out of Lilah's arms and walked over to him, his hand held out with an enforcing look on his face.  
  
"Done." Said Fred with gleeful pride, "He's all bandaged up.  
"Hooray!" Lorne exclaimed comically. Angel saw Connor stir out of the corner of his eyes, as he laughed softly. His heart smiled, realising that his wish, that he'd set out to attain, had been granted. Though he'd had to fight his way through superfluous amounts of merciless demons to get it, he and his son being quite badly injured in the process, it's still come to pass and he was happy to forget his own pain for the delight of the occasion. He handed the automatic rifles over the desk to Wesley, marvelling their sturdy weight as Wesley shoved them under the counter.  
  
"OK, I've gotta say something, on behalf of every one.." Lorne began, walking out to the centre of the room where everyone could see him smiling merrily. "Yay!"

Brows twisted in comical wonder as he looked around the room expectantly.  
"Why is there a demon here?" Dylan suddenly asked aloud.  
"You're welcome to leave." Cordelia retorted.

"Where all here!" Lorne explained his strange statement.  
"We're back, together." Angel agreed, smiling. _Home_his thoughts trailed.

"Before we go into group hug therapy, could I do a little parade-raining. Half of LA is on fire and something big is going down. We need to get a heads up on this." Wesley interrupted, walking from behind the desk, as he spoke to lean against it's front, beside Angel. "I agree with Wesley." Lilah said.  
"That one man, there was something about him." Wesley added.  
"He had power, something I know a lot about. He had it and he knew how to use it. If you hadn't been there I'm not sure I could have beaten him." Angel replied, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, as much to himself as to the rest of the room.

"But he's dead." Lilah stated sharply, and sure. Angel frowned at this, remembering a certain feeling about the whole ordeal, something off; like an evil grin there was something all to mischievous about it. But for that weak feeling he wasn't sure what stopped part of his mind agreeing with her. He had seen him take a shotgun cartridge to the face by his very own eyes, and fall at least twenty stories. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp interjection. "He's not dead." Connor snapped as he groaned, attempting to sit up. His voice was coarse and unnaturally sharp, in attempt to enforce it's truth, sounding spiteful in the process. Angel frowned deeply as his eyes met Connor's and the honesty that lay within. He felt his mind twist with an unnerving fear he rarely felt. He wasn't surprised at the information but it really sealed the letter his worried mind had written in it grim suspicion.

A heavy and sharply placed footstep echoed fruitlessly off the pavement, devoured by the already noisy air. Though it was day, the looming clouds made it night from every edge of every horizon. A certain energy could be felt in the air now, and a certain dampness that would portend to anyone the coming of thunder and storm. The handsome man walking briskly along the empty sidewalk inhaled the air and that feeling that came with it, the smells and sounds of chaos. He was like a mysteriously approaching shadow, his dark hair and coat hauntingly masking against the dark landscape. He was walking up a steep hill, smiling to himself as he heard the rage of fire and frantic sound of rescue helicopters and sirens. It filled his icy heart with sinister joy. The street he now conquered was relatively quiet and unaffected by the fire that had the moderately distant city in tall, fierce flames. It was suburban and climbed its way up a hill that surrounded the tall city. The air was calmer here than it looked to be in the scenic distance, mayhem abound. If it were up to him, he'd be soaking up the hell rays of a city in turmoil. But he had a mission, bestowed to him by the Sinice themselves.

As with every world he placed his eager foot upon, he had been told, in the white room, to hunt down and kill Asheara, the meddling priestess who fights him in valour and vain with every dimension he sets to destroy. She, like him, was an eternal being, death but meaning rebirth, in the next dimension. She was the conflict in every one of those realms, having discovered his mission long ago, and being deluded in thinking she might avert it in any one dimension. They were practically family, meeting in every new realm and fighting to the death every time, her death. He had often enjoyed playing with her, keeping her alive in agony until the very end, and torturing her senselessly. Yes, they had a long history together, one of much fun on his behalf. She was brave though, he knew as much, for he had never met anyone who would continuously stand against the unbeatable, through risk of unimaginable pain and forfeit. He admired her in a way, and they had certainly grown to know each other, now her murder seeming more like a chore with every dimension.

He put a heavy step down to the concrete and stopped his swift walk, pausing as he turned his head to view a large, timber house to his side. There was a letterbox out the front, a white body, with the number twenty six nailed to it, and a darkly red top. He continued to the view the house intently, smiling as he gazed at the simple timber door at the tip of the short stairs. A veranda hugged the house, and he could see it supported out the back, where the hill descended. Something had suddenly come to him, a light in his mind that shone brightly now, it's rays pointing revealingly at the house before him. It was a feeling that he'd become very much accustomed to refining. Now he could sense the presence of Asheara vaguely from great distances and with sharp accuracy upon approach and he sensed it now. Swivelling around he swiftly approached the door across the straight concrete path that divided the rich green lawns. Smiling with dark glee as the door rapidly came nearer, and the burning city disappearing behind the tall house.

Asheara had become very much acclimatised to the sight and air of destruction, having experienced it in every life. To most the blazing city she had a wide view of, from her front veranda, would be a total shock to the system, something never considered. The Earthquake had died down, but its mark had been made, rioting crowds and coarse cracks decorated the cold streets. Her long hair blew aggressively either side of her gentle face. The trees faired worse against the wind that had now progressed to harsh from a weak breeze, and a loud, eerie howl could be heard all around her. The wooden veranda creaked and groaned, as did her house behind her. All of this, earthquake, fire, a smothering blanket of sinister dark clouds, meant the end was coming. All of the signs were unmistakable now, but she had felt the end's approach in her bones for a long time now. Bright flickers of flame radiated her beautiful skin as she watched, her eyes almost squinting against the wind and her blonde hair blowing wildly behind her. She sighed from the depths of her heart, and turned back to the large French doors that opened up into her dining room. Swinging them open as she stepped in, she could see right down the hallway to the front door of her house. The hallway cut right through the middle, and one end could plainly see the other. 

She walked down the hall, but as she approached a door to the left something clicked in her mind with rude abruptness. She pressed her foot into the ground and stopped in her tracks, her eyes now steely gazing forward, at the oak door that opened up to her front yard. She felt through it with ease, and though she couldn't see anything beyond it she knew what was there, he was looking at the door as well. She knew it, their eyes were meeting, and the fire that had grown between them could not be withheld but a door. She suddenly stuck out her arm and placed it firmly around a long, heavy object that lined the wooden wall. Feeling the cold steel, as she kept her eyes forward, she held in her grip a lengthy Katana, kept from many years ago, just as much of the antique furniture that occupied her house was. She felt his heavy footsteps against the ground, felt his breath in the air. They approached, slowly, as she had a large front yard, but vigilantly, and with sharp purpose. Breathing quickly now she felt her heart begin to beat faster, and sweat form over her body. Her mind raced frantically now as she had a choice. She could stand with blade in hand now, fight by her own home, or she could run, her help maybe later sought.  
  
Suddenly she felt his presence ever so strongly, and her mind cut into action. Feeling she'd lingered far too long for such an obvious choice she rushed back down the hall, grabbing her shoulder strap from a hook on the wall as she did. Slipping her katana, sitting neatly in it's own scabbard, into the leather loop, and tying the belt around her back, she burst through the open glass doors onto the veranda. She tightened the strap that now held her sword over her shoulder and against her back, she took a last look at the door straight down the now foreboding hall. She turned and quickly jumped the railing, her white attire making her fall from view that of a sharp white streak. A heavy, mighty crash came from inside and in the felled doors wake stood a tall, imposing figure. His sharp gaze was already locked onto the edge of the veranda but there was nothing to be seen, not the tail of a skirt, or the tip of a foot. He was smiling as he walked forward, heading directly for the railing of the veranda ahead. He walked with straight objective, knowing he need not look in the house, nor anywhere but the below the veranda. He knew her eyes had met his in this hall, and he knew she had gone. As his hands hit the wooden edge of the railing, he didn't even bother to search the ground below. He simply watched the city in the distance, with a content smile. She had fled him, and she knew how to flee, spending lifetimes doing just that. But he knew better than to worry; she could not effect was destined to happen here in this holy city of darkness, where the birth of death marred it's own land.

He laughed quickly at that and turned his back to the view. "Plan B" He muttered to himself as he left the abandoned house, now fiercely alight with consuming flames. He left no building untainted in his wake, and had taken pleasure in setting alight his most trusted enemy's home.

A sorrowful tear fell from a soft chin, as eyes of soulful beauty gazed up a steep hill. Trees surrounded her and blanketed her in comforting shade as Asheara spied the fierce burning building above. Her eyes were tearful, and her tears were heavy with grief. She hated that she could still cry for the loss of a home after the loss of so many, but became so attached to things, things of beauty that she collected over the many years of her life in this dimension. It happened in every realm she lived in, and she hated it. It could be that her life was so disjointed, she needed to find a place to become attached to keep her soul alive. She swivelled around and disappeared into the misgiving darkness.

Connor wrapped his tired hand, still wrapped tightly in a blood red bandage, around a smooth wooden door handle and twisted it, his wrist shooting with pain as he did so. It swung open and he looked into the small room that it had concealed. He walked forward slowly inside and flicked on the light switch. The grimly black room was suddenly transformed, something he still found himself marvelling every once in a while. There was a wide, cosy bed against the wall to his left and a door to the bathroom beside a large armchair to his right. He groaned with an aching pain as he limped into the room, giving it further inspections. This was Angel's room, his new one, after the recent fire. He had been told much of past events by Angel and his friends whilst he had been feigning friendship. He had laughed aloud with them, smiling happily, although feeling no happiness for himself. Despite the fact that he had hated them during this time, he had still got to know them well, seen all of their characters, and heard what made them tick. Except for Wesley, whom he knew next to little about. The others had barely mentioned him, and, looking back now he could see there was a rift between Wesley and the rest of the gang.  
  
He walked through the room and to a large wardrobe behind the armchair and opened its double doors. He looked over the various shirts and jackets within curiously, intrigued by Angel's possessions, however unvaried his range of dark clothing was. He slid off his own shirt, with no need for unbuttoning, it having been torn apart already. Throwing it over the armchair he took out a deep blue shirt and donned it, looking at himself in the mirror. The sleeves were a little disproportionate but it was basically a perfect fit. He sighed, with mental and physical tiredness as he neared the bed, his body still aching. Weariness swept over his muscles as the temptation of rest crossed his mind, and he soon found his face buried in a soft white pillow. It was an overwhelming sensation, as he lay there in silence, his body, nor his mind in action. He was silent as he closed his eyes, falling asleep to the drone of loud voices below.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a block of memory missing." Stated Angel loudly to the group scattered around the Hyperion lobby. Dylan sat tiredly on a red sofa to the side of the entrance stairs, which Cordelia and Lorne occupied. Fred was sitting on the reception desk, with her legs dangling over the front, beside Wesley who leaned against the desk looking out at the room with a pleasant smile. "And now, you know. It's uneventful." Cordelia replied. Soft but hearty laughter met her comment from all around the room, everyone wearing a happy smile, except maybe Lilah, who was staring at the roof with a irritated, impatient expression, and Dylan, who lay back into the sofa, sighing with a weary boredom. Because he couldn't make a connection with anyone in the group it was hard to care for what they said.

Suddenly his tired stare was shaken when, unexpectedly, he heard his name. " Dylan," Angel said, "don't you have a home to go to?" He leaned forward and shook the tiredness with a shake of his head. "Probably not. Have you seen outside? I probably only have two walls and a roof by now."  
"And a floor." Lorne added.  
"Don't be so sure, the riot's pretty bad out there. It's, well, chaotic."  
"He should probably stay." Wesley resolved.

"Don't get me wrong I've no problem with Dylan hanging around." Angel replied honestly.

"Right, and I'm less than welcome." Lilah shot at the room, with an odd carefree bitterness.

"Very perceptive of you, Lilah, just lacking in the follow-through." Cordelia quipped.

"That reminds me," interrupted Wesley, putting his beer down onto the reception desk behind, and looking over to Dylan, "it sought of escaped me in all that gory death, but, do you have the book?" Dylan smiled with a hint of pride as he drew a heavy brown book from beside the couch. Holding it up for Wesley and the others to see. "In that case I would like to get down to business."  
"There's business?" Lorne asked disappointedly.  
"I have a lot of explaining to do but I intend on bringing you all up to speed on the latest chain of ominous events, undoubtedly leading to an apocalypse."

Wesley opened up the book, filled with scrawled notes and unusual diagrams, and began to explain to the group before him Lilah's story, what he'd found out about it from the book, and what had happened in Wolfram and hart.

As his mysterious words filled an already mysterious air methodic steps landed on warm concrete, their shadow cast in a collage of dancing flames. The night was a deep orange with it, and it cast reflection on the people, the roads, the buildings, the blazing glow was everywhere that was not alight with it. The air was sinisterly warm, born from rampage, rioting, looting, screams, fear, and panic. The city was still rife with it and Asheara knew better than to expect it to settle before the flames did. A car tore down the road beside her as she walked lost, yet determinedly down the footpath. Her footsteps were heavy with a powerful purpose, much like that that had been with her all of her life. She was a woman who knew what she lived for, and though pain remained, fear of death was thankfully gone, allowing her to press fourth bravely, gaining experience with every time she did so. A couple of shouts accompanied the sound of fierce burning, and a window was smashed across the road from her. She was now in the centre of the city, which was overrun with shouting looters. She was tired, as she had walked a mighty distance from her house on the hill, in search of another house, one that contained the very people she sought to protect. Having the prophecy relate so closely to a figure so readily known amongst the underground community was a clear advantage for her, as she was easily able to find his residence; the Hyperion. As her mind was drawn back into the wider frame she a funny feeling in her heart. There was something about this universe; she couldn't know why she felt strangely hopeful, only glad that she did. It was as though there was something different about this time. Though this dimension wasn't just another pin to be bowled. It felt unique, in a strong way. 

She stopped for a short rest, panting softly as she sat on some tall steps at the door to a shop. She put her soft, delicate hands on her lap, covered in a long white skirt that sat almost at her ankles, and watched the street before her. It was like a huge action scene from a movie, with the constant sound of sirens and explosions. She leaned forward a bit as she drew her katana from the sheath, savouring the sleek sound it made as it carefully slid out. She held the blade out in front of her, up to her face, and scanned it with her elegant blue eyes. It was a thing of beauty, a blade to truly marvel. This was one of her oldest possessions and she often just sat and beheld it. She was sure she would miss it in the next realm, perhaps no weapon of worth would ever meet her dexterous hands again. It was about four feet long and with a slender body, curved slightly and forged with the utmost skill. It reflected the orange city perfectly, 'almost as though it was a mirror'. She thought, as she looked into her own sapphire eyes gleaming on the sharp blade. 

She suddenly shivered and sharply took her eyes away from their dreamy gaze. Something cold had just cut through the city, something evil. Not the bloody violence that humans created in their feeble minds, something undeniable soulless. She quickly slid the sword back in the seta and jumped to her feet, bumping past a couple as she ran up the flaming street, gazing sharply ahead, the Hyperion in her minds view.

Two more blue eyes beheld the wonder of the burning city; these two looked down from far above. A powerful wind pushed cold, moist air into his face as a tall man gazed down below, from atop a tall, sleek building. His long jacket flapped loudly and wildly behind him as he smiled wickedly. He breathed in the air deeply, feeling the coming of rain. He was standing as still as a statue, indeed anyone who saw him would think him to be one. But his black heart was beating with dark glory and pride. He had wrought a fire to be proud of, probably the most powerful of any he'd made before. Yes, he felt himself become stronger, not just by the second, but from every dimension to the next. Many moments passed as the risen admired the view from behind the railings of the top of the Wolfram and Hart building.  
  
Then a soft footstep came from behind him. There stood a moderately tall man, sharply dressed in a sleek business suit, and staring forward with the most absent expression anyone could conceive. You could feel an evil in his blank visage without much effort, for, within his silent stare, hatred lay in everything it saw. The Risen turned around slowly. "Gather everyone," he said suddenly and commandingly, "we're going to attack them in their own home."  
The man let a small smile of pleasure cross his face and nodded, turning around and walking back to the entrance across the wide concrete floor. He paused as he heard the risen call after him. "I trust you know who to kill and who not to." He thought for a moment then set fourth once more, leaving his master to stand and view the city in his own cruelty.


	16. Assail

Hello all the brilliant people reading and reviewing my story! Thanks again, especially Sahid who was the only person to give me feedback on my latest chapter! Every chapter takes quite a bit of effort you know, so please make the effort to tell me how I'm going. Anyway, here is the latest chapter, which I feel is pretty damn fine, as things begin to heat up again here. It took the usual 4 weeks which is now my official deadline, which will not change. Please enjoy!

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Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 16- Assail

"Dude, that's screwed." Gunn exclaimed profoundly. Wesley, not seeming to surprised at his reaction, admired the collection of dumbfound expressions gathered in the vast lobby. Fred looked shocked and intensely intrigued by his recount of Wolfram and Hart. Lorne's brow was dipped in a concerned frown, and Cordelia seemed to be gazing at the bare wall with deep and unheard thoughts streaming through her mind. As he scanned the group quickly he caught a morbid glare from Lilah. She lay back into the couch, her hard glare facing the roof sternly. She seemed disconnected, lost in heavy thought. Angel had a relaxed visage and posture, sitting back next to Cordelia and smiling with a resonant and resilient grin. Wesley pondered at how suddenly Angel's attitude had changed, one minute, in the dark halls of Wolfram and Hart he'd collapsed to the ground, the next he glowed happily, as though not a burden or fear in the world could crack his smile. In those halls, Wesley, for the first time, had witnessed Angel in despair. He hadn't just been out of breath; he'd been out of heart. He felt the radiance of content from Angel, and realised Angel had found what he'd been fighting for. This apocalypse that raged just metres away was but a movie, something he neither feared nor cared for. He was with family, and Wesley could plainly see how much stronger that made him.

Lilah's distant frown worried him deeply. She was not stupid, or slow, and the moment he'd mentioned the line he'd translated from the book, silent and invisible tears came to her eyes. She seemed truly afraid, something that tingled his hardened spine just to consider. Ever since he'd seen her after her encounter with the girl in the white room he knew that there was something powerfully different about her. The way she walked, talked, her expression. It was as though the apocalypse had sparked something long hidden inside of her, and her heart became determined to find the truth. He could never imagine her the way she was now, strong, but undeniably emotionally fragile. Her distempered mind bore a morbid realisation; he could see that. 

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Ram, for the soul of the Hart.

She was the Wolf. And she was scared. As he mulled this over something uncanny occurred to Wesley. He felt something he hadn't felt for seemingly a million years: Compassion. Where he had heard nothing but sharp, resolves from his mind he now felt his heart beat. How ironic that the one person he thought had no humanity, received his first ounce of it. The others could not ever truly see Lilah the way he did. Their relationship, however physical, had given the both of them a clear insight into each other, and through that, themselves. 

As a loud chatter followed Gunn's outburst, Wesley shifted his gaze to a soft footstep by the stairs. Angel wondered past Gunn and Lorne and through the swinging doors that led to the darkness outside. They clattered shut as Wesley watched in wonder.

Angel strolled slowly over to the dark wooden railings overlooking the small courtyard. The air was thick, with not only a cool presence of moisture, but with the dampening feeling of a despairing sigh. The atmosphere was so different out here than it was inside. Even now he heard their cheerful rumbling. His mood changed with the air, and now his heart was heavy, yet he couldn't feel why. He had conquered his goals and achieved his deepest wish: to have everyone together again, to be a family. Last year the group had been severed, Wesley closed the door to them, Lorne had left for LA, and he and Cordelia were pulled apart viciously. He forced himself over an over in his mind to not blame Connor. Although he should be punished, Angel's determined strive for action had been replaced by a warm feeling of content, and he could not bring himself to allow Connor to hate him again, if he still didn't now. Even after she explained it, just minutes ago, he was unclear as to the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, but he also felt unwilling to uncover that mystery. Out here, in the cool, breezy air, his thoughts accompanied by the raging of fire and chaos, his warm hope for togetherness had not diminished. He simply felt something else, darker, and stronger than a happy fluster.

The sense of approaching misfortune was clear and he despised it for ruining what he'd fought so hard to get. It had come to him like a sharp spark carried by the mysterious air, and he knew, just knew, that something was coming. 

The door behind him clicked softly and he felt Cordelia's strong presence. He didn't turn his head or even move his body, his eyes still fiercely gazing at the burning city in his view. The fire was quite close to them, burning mightily just a few blocks away. They stood beside each other, both of them gazing at the dancing shadows of sharp orange flames on the cold grey concrete. A strong wind blew through the air, whistling through trees and buildings and creating a haunting howl under the deep black sky. A shiver rand down Angel's spine as a sharp gust blew into his intently staring face, his jacket flapping behind him. Cordelia's hair was blowing wildly as she turned to face him. 

"Hey." She said to the side of his face, turning back to the courtyard.

"Hey," he replied with strained warmth. They paused and their silence listened to the eerie howl of the wind.

"So, why the steely gaze and disheartened brow?" She asked again, this time, just to the air in front of them.

"I wish I knew." he slowly answered. They paused again.

"What are you going to do about Connor?" Cordelia eventually inquired. Breathing in the icy atmosphere and shivering a little. A laugh came from behind them, from within the warm light that only touched them from behind. They were both wearing dark clothes and the light from inside the hotel sat, golden, on their backs. Their shadows were pressed onto the ground below by it.

"I never thought I'd have to answer a question that hard." he replied, sincerely.

"Don't dance around it. All you have to do is punish him or forgive him."

"It's just that. I know I should punish him, he deserves no less, but I want so desperately to forgive him." Cordelia nodded as he spoke. " Our relationship is already too fragile," he continued, "It's like playing nuclear warfare on a sheet of foil. Any more tears and, well, I don't have any more sticky tape up my sleeve."

"It's not your fault though, that he's the way he is."

"Every time he said it, father, he was talking about Holtz. I hate how much that tore at my soul, not just that he says it, but that a small part of me agrees. What is a father? He who raised a boy, or he who watched him be born? Sometimes I truly wonder whose son he is. Sure, he may look similar to me, but his every thought is wrought from his life with Holtz, and that life was all for disowning me. This is why I don't blame him, why I stop myself for punishing him. He's just a toy for Holtz, his words are Holtz's, and his actions are Holtz's. Holtz took his own life just to make my son hate me."

"A family for a family." Cordelia said.

"I could have killed him, many years ago, but I turned and laughed. I remember all my thoughts as Angelus; none make me sick so much as what I felt then. I remember saying to myself, let him live, and let him suffer till his last breath, the memory of his slaughtered family always with him. But now I know what family means, and I hate what I did to him."

"What would you do to him were you in that same situation again?"

"I would snap his neck like a twig." Angel spat sharply, his eyes narrowing and his face hauntingly sincere. Silence gripped the immediate air as Angel glared at the ground with a bladed expression, watching the flickering shadows, illuminated by the warm orange from the distance. Cordelia's throat had tightened with his words, her heart clenched. It hurt her to hear such honestly cruel words as these. But, as she slowly breathed out, she understood his deathly hatred. Angel would, and should, do everything in his power for his son. She decided not to speak, instead watching the burning buildings ahead, giving Angel some space to breathe, and his strained mind time to settle. It was obvious to her that somewhere, deep inside of his soul, he was troubled. It was as though he knew he should be happy but a feeling he couldn't pinpoint was brutally dragging him down.

"I hated my father, before and after I killed him. I don't blame myself though. He didn't know how to be a farther, only how to have a son. He told me so often what he thought of me, scum, and a waste of breath. That was all I saw and heard, what his face and words told me, but really, under that stern mask, he loved me. I understand that now, because, when I look at Connor, I know he's a part of me." Cordelia's heart smiled warmly, sensing the heartfelt earnestly in his words. He was speaking from the bottom of his soul.

"I want Connor to know that." He concluded resolutely.

Cordelia looked towards him again, with an affectionate smile, her thin hair blowing wildly across her face. Angel turned his head slowly and met her eyes. He wore a pale, almost sickly face, with a solemn smile. Through a harsh wind their glistening eyes saw each other. For a long while they stood there, each of them staring intimately into the other, their own thoughts running silently and calmly through their minds. In this drawn moment the blazing flames, whistling wind, and orchestra of chaos were all meaningless and did little but ring ineffectually in their ears. The booming sound of a helicopter raged through the air, and they both looked up, awoken from their trance, to see it's sleek black body cut through the air towards them. The bushes in the courtyard raged rabidly as it flew over their heads, disappearing behind the building.

"It's good to have you back," said Angel, as the heavy sound faded and the air settled to a strong breeze. He smiled lovingly, and she understood his feelings for her. It was moving how innate their friendship was, how strong and sturdy their amity remained through the tragedy that was last year. They both seemed to click then and they felt the warmth in the air. It was not one of lust, or passion, but connected them deeply. It felt as though their soulful affinity could never be broken. 

They both turned back to the railing and watched the ashen sky. A flicker sharply lit the air. And a bright blue streak could clearly be seen carved across the thick, foreboding clouds. Cordelia jumped back a little, and Angel frowned grimly, sensing a frightening power ebb through the electric air, towards him. A sharp crackle proceeded the sudden lightning and Angel stood to his feet as he felt the air shake in terror. It died into a low crackle, but Angel stood sharply still, his expression grave and apprehensive.

Cordelia was breathing fast, not just from the previous shock but from the portentous dread that Angel radiated of. "What is it?" She asked suddenly and with a slight edge of panic. "I feel something," Angel replied, "and it isn't friendly." Cordelia frowned. "That's why I came out here," he continued, "I felt something carried to me through the air, a premonition of sought. Now I feel the sky watching down, holding its breath with terror. The air tells me something is approaching."

"What kind of thing, the rain? I feel th..."

"I see rain. It's heavy and with it will come burden. And I see footsteps, moving swiftly with evil purpose" Cordelia, now hopelessly unnerved was looking at Angel with confused fear. Angel seemed to drop out of his unnatural stance and breathed out strongly. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cold air sharply. Cordelia jumped back as he suddenly opened his eyes, the flames reflecting off them seemed to be but windows to his soul. He slowly raised his narrowed eyes to the street behind the trickling fountain. Cordelia watched intensely, and felt horror overcome her as they widened with fear. She twisted her head to see what he saw. There, in the middle of the road, and in the centre of the Hyperion's exit, which was cut out from two pale brick walls, stood a tall, sturdy man. She frowned with grim wonder as she noticed many other figures lurked in the shadows of buildings behind him. There must have been at least a hundred men standing at the ready. 

Angel stepped back, his eyes wide, as the man on the road smiled cruelly, then, as Angel turned and burst through the Hyperion doors the man put his polished black shoe to the ground, stepping forward with excited glee.

Asherea's foot, donned in a light, practical, sandal, leapt from the rough grey concrete, as she sprinted down the footpath. Cars crashed, people shouted and pillaged, and fire raged beside her. Yet none of that mattered to the least. Her eyes were firmly glued to the path ahead, and her mind set on the Hyperion, the location of which she had spared no time in learning. She felt footsteps of another kind touch the ground with hers as she ran. Heavy, slow, she could sense the power behind them, and the calm eagerness to destroy. It was no normal evil, not hate, not lust for revenge; it was a sharp passion for evil, that only a soulless creature could emit, and that she now could feel, through her minds eye, from miles away, having been in its presence, and at the end of its blade so many times. Her rapid pace intensified as she felt the fear, realising that the Risen had wasted no time in moving to objective B in her absence. Nor would he spare any power in enacting it. Time was crucial.

She ran with all the power she could muster, and with a powerful spirit bred from her focused will. She was not going to lose this dimension. And there was nothing she wasn't willing to sacrifice to stop its end. A cold speck of water hit her cheek as she swiftly and agilely rounded a corner, turning into a wide, and extremely long, street. She was close.

Lilah walked briskly down a tight corridor, bemusedly noting the numbers of the doors she passed. Though that never reached her brain, which was already drowned and dense with bladed and anxious thoughts and questions. She knew the second it had escaped Wesley's lips, the implications, though not their credibility.

Blood of the Wolf, blood of the Ram, for the soul of the Hart.

Her breathing was pained and had a resonant panic of apprehensive despair. Her footsteps silent on the luscious green carpet, she came to a halt, her face crumbling with the harsh erosion of her much-needed coherency. She remembered being desperate to discover her fate, how she fitted in to the scheme of things, as the Wolf. Now she knew, and she couldn't handle it. It was clouding her mind, and even her vision now, as weak seeds of tears plagued the corners of her eyes. For the first time in many years, she was afraid of something, mortal fear, the only kind she knew to dread, and she hated it. The feeble hope that the prophecy was false weakened further every time she ran the idea through her head. This wasn't the usual prophecy, one that could be created or averted, as Sahjan's was last year. There was something profoundly and fearfully resolute about this. 

She had escaped the pressure of concealing her doubt, particularly from Wesley, by leaving the room with a weak excuse, saying she had to use the bathroom. She had practically felt Wesley glance towards her as she disappeared up the stairs, his stern sympathy, and his professional disprove dispiriting her further. She hated to be, either empathised for, or looked down upon, and especially by Wesley. The person with whom she had fought for respect through their deeply entangled and impassioned relationship. And, worse than Wesley, she felt she was letting herself down. Her hardened image of stone cold fearlessness was shattering before her eyes, and she felt herself becoming weak. Leaning against one of the doors she had her head drooped, coldly glaring at the carpet, as she calmed her breathing and tried to loosen her knotted mind.

Just as she felt calmness come back to her, and her thoughts began to organise themselves, her mind was turned upside down as a powerful yell shot up through the floor.

"Get to the weapons! We've got company! Lots of it!" Came Angel's muffled voice. 

Holding her breath and holding a pristine silence she listened worriedly to the commotion that shook the floor from below. Her slow, distant fear was suddenly forgotten as immediate danger gripped her heart with its feared hand. Suddenly she wasn't just waiting and listening, as her mind had abruptly thrown her a pointed dilemma. Her mind flooded with uncertainty as the question cut through her every thought.   
  
Should she run? Can they protect her?  
  
Doubt was quickly overcoming her and, the window, though only darkness lay beyond it, out of the corner of her eyes, seemed inviting. She heard another window smash loudly, and the glass softly tinkle. It felt unnervingly close, but out of her sight. Lilah turned her head away from the end of the hall, where the window stood, and saw the corner that turned to the next hallway, where she predicted the sound to have originated from. Gazing at the wooden wall across the gap she let her ears wander down the hall, blocking out all sound she could but that of the hall just past the edge of the wall she leant against.

Her heart was beating fast as several more shouts vibrated the floor beneath her, and sounds of battle began to drift up through the floor. She tried desperately to calm her breath as she struggled to focus her hearing. A drop of sweat fell from her chin as she heard a chilling creak in the floorboards. She swivelled round, covering her own mouth to stop herself from letting out a loud gasp. The creak was closer than she was expecting to here something. Whoever or what ever was just around that corner was only a few metres away, and trying very hard not to be heard. Looking back over the window, her breathing becoming more erratic with every second her heart pounded fiercely.

Suddenly her mind clicked with a sharp resolution. She put her hand over her back pocket and felt her handgun; it's cold steel reassuring her to no end. She quickly strode away from the corner, where she knew an intruder lurked, taking off her shoes and carrying them in her hands, to reduce the noise of her footsteps. Her mind was becoming clearer and clearer with every step she took, with every step further from the next hall she was. Holding her breath with forceful effort she finally reached the window. Glancing back over her shoulder nervously, to see any sign of the intruder she slowly began to slide the newly oiled window up. The cold, damp air sent a shiver through her hot, sweaty body as it drifted in through the window. Biting her lip furiously to hold in her fear-inspired desire to scream the edged it open further bit by bit. The wind was almost soothing, despite its harsh coldness, as it blew strongly into her face. The white curtain danced in front of her as she let loose a hearty sigh of relief, the window now fully open, revealing the dark churning sky looming above the bright burning landscape. It was a powerful view, one that she would never imagine seeing, let alone seeing again. It was perturbing, really, how quickly the city had fallen into a rampant chaos. It didn't take long for people start to attack each other under this kind of fear. Little did the general population know that a woman, seemingly alone in the world, prophesised to die, would be watching them, her eyes gleaming with an overwhelmed fear. She lifted her leg over the sill, and carefully felt for the ledge below. Feeling the safety of being in the open, her mind jumped into a rush to escape the trapping confines of the building. Her skin tingled with the cold air as her hair blew wildly across her face. She was now outside the building, on the third floor, turned, and looking down into a wide alley below. She saw several shadow fingers lurking below, as her heart, beating hard and fast, rang in her ears. Suddenly the ringing in her mind was interrupted, when a loud crash came to her. She carefully turned around and saw one of the identical men, whom she had come to know from her time trapped in the bowls of the Wolfram and hart building, fallen to the floor, his body leaning limply against the timber wall. His eyes didn't face her; they stared blankly forward, down into the hallway that she couldn't see. Jumping into swift action she ducked down below the sill, weary of being seen by the man, and, as stealthily as possible, made a hasty descent down the side of the building, using the many fire exits that ran out from the rooms.  
  
The alley that lay below her was dark and foreboding and stood in the Hyperion's shadow, as though it was out of they Hyperion's protection. She had attempted a quiet descent, always keeping a watchful eye on the unmoving figures that stood in the distant end of the alley, the flames of buildings further strengthening their menacing shadows. Her hands were tired by the time she had touched upon the damp, dirty ground. She had made sure her presence was not known in coming down neatly behind a large dumpster. Now she crouched anxiously, shivering as she desperately rubbed her shoulders to gain some heat. She had long ago discarded her jacket in the sauna of Wolfram and Hart, and now she was left scantily clothed for the warmth, with only a torn and blood-splattered white shirt and thin trousers donned. The low, yet mighty rumble of the burning city remained ever present as she hid there. After a short while she drew her pistol from her back pocket and released the cartridge. Taking out the bullets one by one she nervously counted 6. She reloaded it again, remaining as silent as possible, slightly dispirited by her concerning lack of ammunition, something she was sure she would have to bet on to survive whatever was thrown her way.  
  
She quickly became restless and impatient, of the opinion that she should relocate. Cautiously, she leaned out from behind the dumpster, looking right down the long, dark alley, to the silhouettes at its mouth. Observing attentively she soon managed to reach a concrete number of men guarding the alley.

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6

Fear was beginning to take hold of her once more, as she realised that she had no hope of escaping, not while these identical men stalked the alley. And she was becoming doubtful at how long that would be as well, after having noted how little they had to move, and how long they'd been standing. They were practically machines, and she wasn't. What could she, a mere human do against all this? Nothing. She was way over her head, and she was beginning to see it.

"Shit" She spat softly. Dispirited by her apparently dire situation.

Suddenly an ear-catching screech cut the tense silence of the alley. It was that of a car, swerving a corner harshly. Looking out from behind the dumpster she saw a car roar past the end of the alley, a black Plymouth. It sped from view, and Lilah just managed to spot the people jammed inside the large car. The thought of the champions in that car, whom she had so often tried to defeat, yet who'd averted so many seemingly unstoppable apocalypses, running from danger really sent a chill down her spine, one that lingered in her heart, degrading her confidence further.

She began to sigh despairingly as she let her sight fall to the grimy concrete. Her feet would probably be black by now, smeared in the black layer of damp filth that lined the floor of the alley. Yet, just as she felt her mind begin to crumble, lose all strength, she heard the clear echo of pounding feet. The sound of clattering shoes rampaged the alley, and, breathing in deeply, summoning all the bravery she could still muster, Lilah peered out from the safety of the dumpster, fearful that the footsteps might be heading in her direction. The small ounce of hope that she had grasped dearly despite the fear suddenly sprang alive with a whole new zest. She felt like laughing as all of the men ran swiftly from the alley, turning down the street, clearly following Angel's car.

The stars, however hidden they were by a thick black blanket of cloud, were on her side. Swinging herself back against the cold metal wall of the dumpster. She looked up at the clouds, and now, as a cool breeze blew into her face, she felt not imposed by their mighty shadow. Sitting there, kneeling off the dirty ground and leaning against the dumpster, she found herself again, her true self. Fear, despite being something she always condemned in others, and her fight to disown it, had come over her like a chilling wave. She felt as though she had left herself down now, having been so despaired and hopeless. Every part of her life went against that, and, in fact, seemed solely to fight it. Fear was a weakness, and she wasn't weak. She smiled at the clouds defiantly as self-praising thoughts rushed through her mind, seemingly rain washing the gutter clean. Words written on paper can be no more than that, simply words. The prophecy meant nothing to her.

She put her hand to the gun in the back of her trousers, and, grinning with a powerfully determined visage she stood to her feet. To hell with the prophecy, to hell with Angel, to hell with Wesley, to hell with the clouds...

__

Death's finger will be broken before he lays it on me

The world will see me fight before it sees me die

A gust of wind blew through the dark alley as she strode fearlessly into its centre. As her torn shirt flapped at her waste and he collar, she saw a still human figure, hidden at the end of the alley, under the shadow of the wall. It hit her mind hard and then rolled off. She didn't care; she wouldn't let herself be afraid by anything ever again. She wasn't worried about dying, only about letting herself die a coward.

Powerful pride and boldness shook her body as she laughed out loud. It was almost lost in the shrilling wind and roaring flames, but it's wicked and empowered tone succeeded in reaching the ears of the remaining identical man. A cruelly happy smile crossed his own face as he stepped out into the orange light that the flames behind him poured into the alley. His long and unnaturally unmoving shadow was projected deep into the alley, almost to Lilah's bare feet. Lilah's laugh died down as she looked over to him, with a cool grin. He almost let a frown cross his face when the man saw her sweetly confident and inviting smile across her face.

Her hair blew wildly behind her, revealing her brave, battle-hardened face, bruises and cuts tainted her otherwise smooth, white skin, pale from the cold of the air. He felt power behind her gaze; yet, fear was something that he was unable to feel. Even if he knew he was to die, if it was for the cause, for the coming end, he would have charged forward, whether it be foolish or not. Smiling back at her coldly he began to rush forward, his feet pounding against the damp concrete ever faster as he raced towards the tall figure ahead.

Lilah, subtly clicked off the safety on her gun, and, trying not to look overly confident, held it tightly, waiting till the fast approaching man was close enough. Her heart was beating faster and faster as the man closed the distance with increased speed. His steps suddenly became loud, and the sound quivered through the air. As her heart pumped and seat gathered across her forehead and lined her hands she began to draw the gun. It seemed to take forever for it to be in both hands and out in front of her, but as the man skidded to a stunned halt just a few feet in front of her, toppling over backwards and falling to the floor, a sharp smile crossed her face. He struggled to get to his feet but she quickly and accurately brought down the gun to a steady aim, and, her eyes blinking shut with the sharp sound, fired a single, piercing shot. A thunderous crack echoed throughout the alley as a sharp splatter of blood shot out onto her stained shirt and the soft ringing of an empty shell came from the ground. The man fell back and lay still, never to move again. 

Her smile remained steady as the sound of the shot died away, and her face remained unfazed, still glowing with resilient strength. A heavy drop of water touched her soft cheek as she clicked on the safety and tucked the gun back into her pocket, sending a chill down her spine. She took another look at the body sprawled across the ground in front of her, then at the hateful flames that, with their brightness, reached spitefully up to the black sky. A strike of lightning cut through the air as she turned her back to the city and calmly left the alley.

Connor's eyes opened slowly as his mind awoke from deep slumber and his hazy view slowly focused itself and became adjusted to the dim light that held the room. Although he was still waking physically, his mind was already heated with panicked thoughts rushing through it, born from the unsettling sound he had awoke to. It had been a sharp, yet very soft and seemingly distant sound that had broken his sleep, and he was sure he wouldn't have heard it, or woken to it, had his mind and ears not been attuned to suspicious noises. Many a time he had had to wake within an instant to defend he and Holtz from being victims to merciless demons, which crept about the night with sinister stealth.

He had heard it clearly, and began to worry, wiping his eyes to rouse himself, and sitting up on the messed bed. It had taken him little time to drop into a deep sleep, and he hadn't concerned himself with covers or anything at all, simply falling asleep spread over the cool and soft blanket, not a though left in his tired mind. He knew the sound; it was shattering glass. Frowning with a grave suspicion he rose to his feet and eyed the solid wooden door forebodingly. 

  
Fear was beginning to creep up on him as he stood, waiting for another sound, or sign; yet, to his advantage and relief his body was no longer succumbed to tiredness. However short his sleep had been, it had been deep and undisturbed, and his body felt alive with strength, as though his wounds were gone. Yet sweat still trickled down his face, and his breathing became slightly erratic as he concentrated ever harder on the hall behind the door. Suddenly he held his breath and his eyes widened as he heard a sinister creak in the floorboards, ever amplified by his own focused silence. It was close, far too close for comfort, as he believed it to be right outside his door.

He jumped into action, silently springing from beside the bed to against the wall, closely adjacent the marginally ajar door. He tried to calm his heavy breathing as he waited there, unmoving, his fear that it might be the man he had fought in those dark halls of Wolfram and Hart. He was the only thing he'd feared for a very long time, longer than he could remember. Fear was a liability in Quor'Toth, yet, despite his grown indifference, there was something about that man, as human as he looked, that sent a shiver through the air and down his spine, even though he was but a memory now. Something ate at the back of Connor's vulnerable mind that told him resolutely, that he could not be beaten, ever.

The door suddenly began to drift open slowly, as though by but the air, and Connor pressed himself against the wall, fear on his sweating face. The door swung open unhurriedly and eventually stopped at the doorstopper in the carpet, almost right against Connor's face. He held his breath as soft, cautious footsteps against thick carpet reached his ears. The man, who was beside him, through the open door, paced forward stealthily and eventually, came into view.

A gush of relief suddenly swept over Connor as he cast an eye on the side of the intruder's face. Something told him instantly that he was not the man who he feared, the man before him lacked a certain radiance of power. Upon closer inspection he realised that the intruder was one of the identical men who's beaten him at Wolfram and Hart. Fear left him with an instant and was replaced by a vengeful confidence. They had been in great numbers then but he didn't doubt that he could take this one alone, and have fun in doing so.

Grinning ruthlessly he stepped out from behind the door silently, and tapped the man, who was now peering over the bed in front of him, on the shoulder. He awaited a reaction with a cool smile. Instantly the man, his face glaring with hate, faced Connor, and his fist struck out at Connor, with the speed of a bullet. As Connor watched the clenched fist snap at his face he cut the air with his own arm, meeting the enemy's punch with a forceful block. Pain rang through his arm but he quickly grabbed his dumbfound opponent by the wrist and through him out of the room. He man stumbled backwards but hit the floor with his feet, holding his balance, and stopping himself from hitting the wall of the hallway he'd been shoved out into. His bladed eyes shot out at Connor, with a glare of malice, and he stepped fourth, charging at Connor, fist readied. Connor stepped out into the hall, and, swinging his body to enhance its force swung his leg into the air and his foot around into the storming man's face. Spinning around with the astounding force of the blow, the man was sent flying back down the hall and into the wall at the end, his head knocked right through it.

He walked forward calmly and slowly as the man coughed and gathered himself, pulling his head back through the window. Clearly he was in a concussion-induced daze, as he stood up and shook his head, struggling to keep standing, and totally oblivious to Connor who strolled right up to him and, without the slightest moment of hesitation, placed his hands on his neck, bloodied by the crash, and snapped it. A sharp crack rang through the air as his body slumped to the floor, his neck bent sharply.

Connor, with a victorious smile, looked down on the corpse of his foe, relishing the feeling of being able to fight again, to have power against something. Being chained up was the worst experience of his life, as all he knew was to fight back, and without even the ability to move, he had lost faith in himself. Then, with his cruel defeat by the hands of power far beyond his own, he had felt real despair and hopelessness. He smiled again, this time a more content and heartfelt smile, as he remembered that Angel had saved him. He had sent Angel to a fate worse than death, yet he'd come storming to Connor's rescue. Angel wasn't the monster, otherwise why would he do that? He was a monster though, a vampire, a creature of the night, evil. Yet Holtz had abandoned him, and Angel had fought with all he had to save him, how could he believe that Holtz was good and Angel bad?

Suddenly his heavy moment of reflection was ceased by a panicked shout, that rose, muffled, through the floor below.

__

The others...

He turned and ran down the hall, towards the junction that led to the next hall, heading determinedly toward the lobby. As he swerved into the next hall he saw another identical man jump through the shattered window in front of him. Charging down a small set of stairs, footsteps pounding at his heels, he reached the overlooking path that lead to the lobby stairs. Over the short steel railings he could see an intense and shocking battlefield spread before him. He didn't have time to stop and stare though, as an identical man, reached the top of the stairs and ran towards him. He dodged a punch at his face as they both skidded to a halt in front of each other and smote him on the chin with a sharp upwards elbow strike, sending him into the air and tumbling down the red-carpeted stairs. He gazed down into the battle intense Lobby once more, and, noting the rapidly approaching footsteps of the man running at him from behind, watched in awe as Angel, his sword seemingly red with fire, smote his enemies down one after the other, as though he were a beacon of valiance and hope. The others also fought, all of them constantly evading and striking, and the whole room crammed with identical men, hungry for the kill.

He smiled suddenly as he felt the presence of the man behind him, and the air part to make way for his striking fist. He swung around and, moving slightly to avoid the blow, jabbed at his attacker's face with such overwhelming force that he was thrown over the railings and down into the fierce engagement below. As Connor turned back to the stairs he saw an endless line of men swarm up towards him, eager and vicious expressions glaring at him as they came, but, more importantly, he caught a brief, yet strong glance from Angel from amongst the fray.

He looked at the men indifferently as they swiftly approached, without fear, without misgivings, he put his foot forward and his mind in stone.

__

No one would separate him from Angel now, from his father.


	17. Gathering Clouds

Hello Everyone! I apologise for the wait endured for this chapter, but hopefully it'll be worth it. Also, as this chapter was originally intended to be a single, large chapter, with the next update, the next chap is already well under way. I took my proof reading a little further here, by request, but couldn't find a beta reader, at least not without lengthening the time it took to update!

Anyone who might worry that the Scoobies have not yet appeared in this story, fear not, because they will arrive within a few chapters.

Please review, and enjoy!

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APOCALYPSE NOWISH

Chapter 17-Gathering Clouds

A sharp whoosh shook the air in the wake of a sharply swung, and fisted, blow. The fist's target staggered back and was quickly tripped to the ground by a swift blow to the back of the leg. His collision with the marble ground was silent amongst the massive roar of battle that consumed the room, and that echoed distinctly from the high roof. But as he toppled over his attacker stood proudly to his feet, his face as damaging, and strong as the force behind his punch. His eyes were piercing, and powerfully ruthless, pleasure in the kill seemed to grin down from him, as the blood-red sword he bore struck his victim fiercely, a sharp spray of blood shooting into the air, traces of it hitting his cold face.

Wesley wasted no time in admiring the bloodied corpse, its head lying in a growing pool of blood, and swung around as he heard footsteps behind him. Swinging his sword through the air at eye level, and before he had turned to see what might be there, a jet of blood shot into the air as his sword made contact. When he saw his target he was already screaming, his eyes covered by scared hands, blood seeping through the fingers. Wesley scoffed at the fearful state this, supposedly fearless demon, or person, was in. His foe was clearly not as strong as they had proclaimed. Indifferent to the shocking scene before him, blood in the air, on the walls, and across the floor, he drew back his sword and prepared to impale his foe in the heart. Yet he paused, as, unexpectedly, a heavy figure fell right onto his enemy, knocking him to the ground, and lying unmoving on top of the fallen man. It was another identical man. He glanced up above him, at the railings from whence the body came and saw Connor, looking down at the battle that raged in every corner of the lobby. Wesley smiled shortly but then turned back to battle, thinking of Lilah as he slammed an opponent in the side of his face and sending him into the wall.

Where was she? The tip of his sword made a soft clang as it touched the wall, impaled through the body of the identical man. He sincerely hoped, both for her sake, and his, that she hadn't been found. She was the wolf, and that meant that she was an integral part of events to come, or perhaps even happening as they fought, amid the burning and distraught city. And whilst that was what he told himself he must care about, always, at the back of his layered mind, something told him that she had to be saved, she had to survive this. He felt for her, and he could feel, on some level, that it was not for his own devices. He wished her happiness because he felt that she should have it, a sign of humanity, and at times the only thing keeping him from losing faith in it, faith that seems to always want to tear itself down. Whilst his adoration of Fred was something that was ever present, and one of the few distinct feelings he owned, it was a selfish one. He wanted Fred for himself, to make himself happy, but he wanted Lilah to be happy, whether he was there or not.

Even now, as he smote an attacker on the chin, he wondered why he fought. Did he fight for survival? Or was he fighting for something else, something that really mattered? Was he fighting for others? No,' he told himself as a sharp spurt of blood erupted from a slain identical man, I fight because that's all I know to do.'

A short break in the onslaught of blows gave him a chance to view the room. As he glanced, he saw a disturbed Dylan dive over the reception desk, and fall behind it, sheltering from the sight of preying eyes. Something else caught his eyesight more boldly, and that was a panicked Gunn, against the cold floor, desperately trying to fend off three attackers. He was just in the door to the reception area.

His breath erratic, Dylan grasped his aching side, pained from his harsh fall. His heart began to calm as he felt the comforting walls of the reception desk surrounding him. He was out of the battle, and he'd only just managed that. Angel, whom it was his job to kill, had saved his life on more than one occasion in the intense fray, and still fought valiantly behind him, behind the cowardly cover of the desk. He, on the other hand, cursed himself for not fighting, not willing himself to risk his own flesh and blood for that of others. The only thing he could do was run or be saved by others. He was becoming more worried by the second as the storm of battle, by its raging song, seemed to slowly surround him, entrapping him in an ever-growing web of fear. He was not like Lilah, fearless, indifferent, and despite his terror now, he was thankful for that fact. He had seen her on many occasions sentencing various employees to their deaths. Never by her own hands of course; nonetheless the damage was done and over the years she had become whole-heartedly self oriented, which had made her the employee she was today, at the evil emporium of Wolfram and Hart. 

As he hid now, the only thing between him and death: his enemies, he remembered signing a long and ruthless contract, in blood, for that company. It's forsaken text dooming him to eternal service to the wicked firm, beyond death, beyond everything. Why had he signed it? Why was he here today, in this hotel, surrounded by hordes of vicious demons, and not a glimpse of friendship? Because it promised him wealth, the thing everyone wants and, or so they believe, needs. And, although he wasn't a bad guy, he didn't mind getting his hands dirty, especially when there was no literal sense in the phrase. A few times now, in the courtroom, he'd unjustly convicted innocence, and, although he slept little for long afterwards, he had done evil. He remembered all this and then suddenly, as he shivered with from the evil that surrounded him, he knew; he knew that he had to get out, be strong and fight for the side of good, which he'd noticed was a lot harder to do.

He didn't want to be like Lilah, slowly frozen from the inside until but a shell remained, seemingly a soulless machine. His wish might have been answered, with the recent slaughter of Wolfram and Hart, and he truly hoped that marked the end of his career. He'd seen a lot at that company, and had learnt just as much, about the fine line between good and evil, righteousness and malice, about what it meant to live, and what it meant that others lived. Yes, he had learnt that to live, you had to feel for others.

A grin of confidence slowly spread across his pale face, under his unkempt dark hair, his visage slowly becoming one of precise conviction. Only now did his heart honestly discard evil, and all its promises, now, after all these years of questioning, he was sure of himself. Laughing softly to himself he looked over to the reception area before him. Suddenly a heavy thud made by the swift fall of a strong body to the marble floor came from just in front of him, and Gunn fell into view from the open doorway that led to behind the desk. He let out a pained grunt as he collided with the cold, hard floor, and quickly looked up to see several of the identicals crowd around him, looking down upon his fallen body with a glare of vicious pride. Dylan, but a metre away from one of the men surrounding Gunn, pushed himself as far back against the wall of the desk as he could, watching fearfully as they clenched their fists and Gunn could but watch despairingly.

Cruelly trapped, Gunn could do nothing, or so Dylan thought. But suddenly a shock rang through his body as Gunn launched himself to his feet, defying all Dylan's worries with a proud jump. These people truly are something special' he thought, as he watched Gunn struggle whole heartedly with his growing number of foes. The stubborn bravery played before him, like a chillingly powerful hero scene from a movie, brought an overwhelming hope to Dylan. Empowered, he rose to his feet, his fists clenched with eagerness to fulfil his resolution, to fight for something other than himself. An identical man was sent crashing to the floor by a sharp punch from Gunn and his head hit the floor just at Dylan's feet. The identical looked up, and his eyes widened quickly as Dylan raised his knee, carefully positioning his foot over the man's head. In but a swift moment a repulsive crack found his ears, and he recalled his foot, placing it softly onto the floor as he stared down with a slight tremble of shock, at the man's crushed head. He continued to stare down, his heart beating fast and his mind swelling, the sight of blood pouring from littered cracks throughout his enemy's skull made him sick, and the fact that he had intentionally caused it.

A chill dived down his spine as the body below gave a shudder, then, as all thoughts of self disgust escaped Dylan, a distinct movement. Dylan stepped back into the desk, searching wildly for something to aid him, a weapon of some sought. He gasped as the man rose slowly to his feet, but half a metre in front of him, blood still painting his face, and dripping angrily to the floor. Dylan, biting his lip with tense fear, spun around and swiftly scanned the desk once more, this time his eyes thankfully catching a small lamp at the side. Without wanting to turn behind him, and see the horrid figure lurking menacingly, who's bloody breath he felt to the back of his neck, he grabbed the lamp, tugging it from it's the power socket with a short grunt, and swivelled round to strike his target. When he turned he found his face mere centimetres from the identical, who smiled excitedly behind a veil of thick, dark, red, and with a repulsed expression brought the heavy lamp above his head, ready to smite his enemy. But suddenly he felt a hand viciously grasp his wrist and hold his arm in place. An identical man from in front of the desk must have intervened. Dylan was sweating now, with fear and panic, as he was forced to watch the man before him smiling malevolently, due to the fact he could no longer turn his body, his arm still held tightly by the sneering man behind him. 

The bleeding man suddenly struck out, and cut off Dylan's sharp yell with a bladed grasp to the throat. Dylan's eyes began to widen slowly, and the man's reddened face smiled ever-cruelly as his hands torturously gripped tighter and tighter. All of a sudden Dylan's mind took control, and with its last strain of oxygen, forced him to act. All else in the giant lobby was nothing; it was only him, and two enemies, one behind, one in front. It became harder and harder to think as pain clouded him forcefully, and his face swelled with a deep, agonising purple. But he shifted his eyes to the side, desperate for something to fight back with. Even this simple task hurt him insurmountably, but suddenly a distinct and empowering hope came to him, in the form of a bright white telephone, sitting conveniently beside him, and hopeful within arms reach. Blackness began to overcome his already blurry vision, so, knowing that he had not a second to waste, he swung his unheld arm over his head, and with all the strength he could, grabbed the whole phone. His untrustworthy grip fought through the odds as he managed to lift the whole telephone, and swing it, with the most brave effort he'd ever delivered in his life, towards the head of the man behind him, or at least where he thought the head was.

Relief and hope overcame him when he heard a distinct clunk, despite the piercing ringing in his ears and the heavy sound of battle all around him, and suddenly the grip around his hand, and the lamp he held, died. With his last strain of consciousness, he brought down the pre-poised blow to his attackers head, and, as the sound of shattering porcelain sung hope through his ears, his throat was freed. Not a thought crossed his mind then, not relief, not joy, he simply let go of his body, and fell to the floor, his muscles asleep, and his mind hidden by the still unbearable pain.

After a few deep, and precious breaths, he made himself open his eyes, hoping to confirm his enemy's death. Right next to him, in a puddle of dark blood, lay the unmoving figure, his empty stare to the ground, his death a relief to Dylan. He gave a strained sigh, and, as his vision cleared, looked over to the back of the reception area, where he'd seen Gunn fighting just moments ago. There he saw Gunn, on the floor, a man over him, with his fist drawn back, eager to pound his face to oblivion. Dylan, desperate to fulfil his pledge to fight for others, especially for these people who had saved him countless times already, tried to force himself to his feet, but, still weak and dizzy, fell to his knees and could not make his body go further. A sincere tear of empathy gathered in his eye, and as he wiped it, despairingly watching Gunn, being threatened and teased by his opponent, a grateful smile graced his grim face. The man was thrown from atop Gunn by a firm kick in the rear, and sent flying past Dylan's sight and into the wall besides the entrance to Angel's office. The identical jumped to his feet swiftly, and readily drew his fists. Wesley charged past Dylan, with a sword gripped behind him, and expertly slew him, a sudden spray of blood expelled into the air.

His respect for Wesley grew slightly, where there had been a cold feeling of mistrust before. He remembered in Wolfram and Hart, when Wesley fought, he could sense something by the way he stared, the way he walked, talked, and fought, a stroke of cold across his rugged face. Dylan could tell then, that Wesley didn't care whether he or the others died or not. But now, as he fought for Gunn, Dylan could feel a certain affableness, a warmness that seemed unusual for Wesley. Wesley, oblivious to Dylan watching, approached Gunn, who was lying, sorely on his back. Dylan smiled unexpectedly when Wesley outstretched his hand, to the now sitting, Gunn, who took it heartily after a moments hesitation. As Gunn was helped to his feet, his legs trembling a bit, clearly layered in bruises, Dylan could almost see some weight disappear from the air between the two, and he could tell that that handshake had meant something far more than could be seen by the eye. Always known to be quick on reading people's emotions, Dylan sensed a deep history between the two, marred by tragedy and guilt, which seemed now to be slightly forgotten and relieved, by but a simple gesture. Maybe Gunn beheld, like Dylan, the sincere heart with which Wesley had came to his aid.

Dylan, the sound of battle quickly overcoming his thoughts, stepped over the bloody corpse at his feet, and slowly approached Gunn and Wes, who now stood at the doorway to the reception area, watching the battle, with strategising expressions, and occasionally sparring with the odd enemy. 

Wesley had a frown of concern as he glanced out into the intense battle, making sure he located everyone. Fred he saw first, whether it was his eyes that chose, or by where she happened to be, and she was beside Lorne, pinned against the wall that the steps climbed, on the other side of the room. Angel was standing back to back with Cordy, both with red swords, fighting together in an almost graceful agility. Connor, whom he had seen before, was atop the stairs just above and beside him, fighting valiantly, by his bruised fist, his unwrapping bandages trailing behind his striking blows like a graceful shimmer in the wind. Most concerning was the innumerable amount of bodies that were strewn across the antique floor, their blood splattered about beside them. And still more poured through the now felled doors, clambering over the shattered remains of the rich wood, and trusty glass. As the smell of blood grew ever more intoxicating, Wesley spoke to Gunn, one of his eyes still cautiously stationed to Fred, who he feared might soon lose her strength, and Lorne would be of little help in that circumstance.

"We have to get out," in a slightly weary and gravelly voice those words reached, heedlessly to Gunn's ears. His mind was enveloped and distraught by the ugly, and horrific scene that lay before him, never a sight of such death and blood, had Gunn seen, and although he had killed, and would still, so much gore was a thorned shock to him. This, and his consistently aching body, burdened by wounds and sores, born from the feet and hands of this cruel enemy who poured ceaselessly upon them, made him distant. But, as his eyes gradually panned the room, he saw Fred fly back against the wall from a vicious punch, and, as her weapon fell to the ground beside her, and she struggled to return to her feet, Gunn lost his own woe, and turned to Wesley, wholly ready for action. He nodded to the expectant Wesley, who then proceeded to explain to him that they must get to the truck. As Gunn knocked down a charging identical, with a delighted sneer, Wesley, walking right past Dylan, who stood behind them, listening unnoticed came to behind the reception desk. "Angel!" he cried strongly.

"Yeah?" Angel replied with a grunt, felling a nearby foe.

"We have to get out, retreat to Gunn's truck!"

"Oh, I dunno, I think it's about time we got rid of"

"Right, let's go!" Cordelia sharply interrupted, having no time for Angel's battle antiques. Angel frowned with feigned disheartenment, but was clearly too thankful for Cordy's presence to be upset by it.

Asherea, sprinting, with all the strength she still retained, sharply rounded a corner, bumping into a well-built man, who too was running, and caring a hefty electrical appliance. She paused for the slightest of moments, searching for the Hyperion, far down the street, hearing a loud crash behind her. Just as she sprang fourth, after seeing the hotels unamusable charm amongst dirty, grey buildings, a strong hand grabbed her shirt, hauling her back. The counteraction against her swiftness sacrificed a few of her top shirt buttons, which silently bounced onto the concrete as she was aggressively pushed against the hard concrete wall, being held unkindly by her shoulder. The man was sneering, his looted prize shattered on the sidewalk behind him. But she looked into his hating eyes, and, without hesitation, drew her sword and ran it swiftly across his neck, in a single, refined movement. Blood spurted into the air as the man fell back onto the concrete, into his VCR, dead. But she was already gone, her sword re-sheathed, and her mind focused on but one thing: the Risen, and thereby the fate of the world. And, although she hated to tell herself the truth, a few mortal lives didn't matter in this epic war. They were dispensable. Angel was not.

When she was but a block from the hotel, she saw the identical men, swarming everywhere, across the streets, and especially by the entrance, but then a sight far less troubling. Paused, a distant, unmoving star in the night, she spied upon the crowded street, and smiled a felt smile of relief when all the men suddenly became a tumult mass, falling, charging, and fighting. The gang left a tight trail of bodies amongst the men, as they charged through defiantly, their weapons flailing about, cutting through the endless army of identicals. Asherea's hope became dimmer as she wondered where they could possibly escape to, figuring she might have to aid them, though knowing there were too many opponents for success, she gripped the fabric-wound hilt of her katana. She had been hoping she could conserve her energy, and her power, for the true evil, who had, mysteriously, not presented himself at the scene. The Risen; he was her target.

Bracing herself to mount a worthy charge upon the host of identicals, she suddenly halted with a welcomed shock of realisation. Angel, after throwing an identical over its bonnet, swung open the door to a large and hefty truck, and jumped inside. They were damn lucky they had parked the car across the road from the hotel, or it would have, undoubtedly, been sabotaged, and she was even pleasantly surprised that the enemy hadn't put ever car on the street into wreckage. Wesley was standing on the rusted floor of the back of the truck, his hand held out to the rest of the crew who quickly rushed to safety beside him. Yes,' she exclaimed silently, as the truck, their only hope, revved amongst the swarming cohort. The sky, still alight with angry flames, and their roar, was joined by the battle cry of a powerful engine.

Knocking down a small number of identicals it sped off down the long, empty road, pursued by the large amount of remaining identicals, who she knew to be impossibly relentless, and right now, escape was their only option. She resumed her hastened pursuit, of Angel, and of hope. 

Yet, though she ran with conviction, and determination, a pebble of fear ever-slightly sank her heart. The Risen had not come, but he will, and with his cool, and cold, grin, came death, and dark power beyond all reckoning. Where he was the consuming blackness, she was the star, and now she was a bright shooting star, lit with unbreakable courage.

Cold without the life in the world

And you're caught in the fray

But now the tide's breaking and there's hell to pay,

The sky has gone away,

All hope has gone astray,

Treetops burnt to the ground

And the air is so stale..

and I'll be damned to try, but I will not fail,

Under these gathering clouds, let the ending begin,

You see the stars enclosed but I won't give in.

The sky has gone away,

All hope has gone astray,

The sky has gone away,

All hope has gone astray.

Please tell me what you think! Thankyou for reading!


	18. Let it Rain

Hello all. Gather round, gentle readers, and behold, in awe, the 18th chapter of Apocalypse Nowish. Now if this chapter doesn't prove that this story is epic, I don't know what will. This is basically where I turn away from the light-hearted angst of old, and enter into a new era of tragedy and turmult. Thanks for the continuing feedback, from everyone, I appreciate it, and it helps me dedicate my time to the story! Hope you enjoy the chapter:

Chapter 18- Let it Rain

The air gusted proudly through the open window of the racing truck, and Angel's gelled hair shivered from it's sharp sting of coldness. Gunn, ignoring the strong wind breaking on his face, kept his hands firmly gripped on the sweaty steering wheel, staring ahead with a sharp gaze of concentration. His mind was chanting distinctly, telling him that they had to escape, at all costs, and that that relied on his driving. Swerving around a sharp corner, he flicked on the windscreen wipers, which began to methodically sweep away the gathering raindrops from the cold glass. 

A rumble of thunder could barely be heard amidst the deep, empowered roaring of the engine. As the rain continued to slowly intensify, from a light drizzle, to now, a light pour, sweat gathered on Gunn's hands, and his pained face. The pressure was building, and the host of enemies behind them, seemed only to strengthen in number and in tirelessness. His heart was pounding, his gaze trying not to glimpse the fuel gauge, which, before, had greeted his straying eyes with the hostile display of 'empty'. The truck wouldn't last much longer, he warned himself needlessly, and with it's end, Gunn forsaw the end of himself and his friends.

Angel, whose face was deeply woven with a concerned frown, glanced over to Gunn, and saw the growing hint of terror in his face, which bore a feigned and fickle espresion of fearlessness. The car bumped loudly again, and both Angel and the others in the back, shook jarringly.

"Gunn, take it easy, stay calm." Angel advised, slightly concerned that Gunn's brash, and berserk, driving habbits might inadvertedly cause the very tragedy they fled.

"That's easy for you to say," Gunn replied, the words harsh, forced from a tight, anxious throat.

"Why's that?" Angel said loudly as the tires beneath him screeched piercingly, as though they screamed from the sharpness of the turn. They were now heading straight down another long road, which was almost empty. The cars that were around the city either seemed to be parked, or on fire, and stationary. The orange glow that lit up the darkness was beginning to be subdued by the ever-persevering rain, which was now becoming strong, several harsh splats hitting Angel on the back of his neck as he turned to Gunn, expectantly.

"You haven't seen how much fuel we don't have." Gunn informed, his wit not spoken with humor.

"Dammit!" Angel cried, frustration eating at him as he checked the rear view mirror to see the huge mass of identicals, which neatly occupied the whole road across-wards with it's enormousness, and which charged forward relentlessly. Weariness, and slumber, were clearly forgotten by these inhuman pursuers. 

Unfortunately Angel all but owned that need, his foray into the bowels of the defiled Wolfram and Hart building, having taken its costly toll. His body still ached from his various encounters there, and his latest skirmish had further weakened him. His preternatural abilities could not battle sleeplessness, and his recent time without revitalising blood had kept him from having his full strength. His neck and shoulders were becoming layered in cold water, as the rain began to pour through his window, trickles of it running down his leather jacket.

The realisation quickly came to him as he saw the coming horde; he could not win. There were too many. If the truck were to stop there would be nothing he could do, in battle, or in flight. And when they found themselves facing that reality, he would be standing beside his friends and colleagues, whom he had fought so hard to keep near him for so many years. He couldn't let that be a comfort to him, because he knew that if they were there beside him then, in the face of death, it would be because of him. Their doom would be born from the trust and friendship they'd given to and received from him.

He frowned and looked down as the car gave another bold bump, as it ignored the roadway, its driver, spinning the unsteady wheel with insane passion. 

Wesley looked up suddenly with that harsh bump, his rear knocked uncomfortably against the cold, hard steel of the bed of the truck, which now was coveted in a shiny layer of dampness. He tightened his grip on the side of the truck as he looked straight backward, at the menacing sight tailing the them, gaining ever more ground between darkness and their lives. His short hair was ruffled and swayed subtly in the strong wind that blew across him and his friends from over and around the truck. His expression was cold as he looked around at the people beside him, people whom he had come to know well, and whom he had loved. 

He wondered then, as he directly faced the assemblage of malevolent enemies, _had_ he loved them, or did he love them even now. He remembered the strength in Gunn's hand as he placed it in his and the warmth in his face when Wesley helped him to his feet. Could his sins be forgiven? Gunn's acceptance of Wesley's assistance certainly told him so, but doubt still had him by the collar, and would keep him in despair for all its worth. He felt something click then, and also with Angel deep inside Wolfram and Hart, that sense of freindship that he been missing for so long. A cruel image of his empty, desolate apartment, struck him, its grey walls conjuring a striking sense of loneliness. That was his house, but he had been without a home for too long now, and he wanted it back. He wanted something to fight for, something to keep him sane.

"They're machines." Cordelia unexpectedly exclaimed, her eyes facing the pursuing enemy with a look of disgust and hatred, and water dripping from the tips of her saturated hair.

The others remained silent, Cordelia keeping her eyes firmly upon her predators. The rain quickly became harder, and as the engine roared on perseveringly, they were soon bathed in a deep downpour, shivering as the icy wind met their water-logged clothes. Wesley sat in the corner of the truck, against the wall to the drivers cab, his arm firmly gripping the left barrier, and his eyes solemnly, and vaguely, gazing about the dark, fiery storm that had enveloped the city. Thunder rumbled powerfully about them, as the truck gave another sudden jump. 

Mutterings from behind him stirred his drowned mind to alert consciousness. He forced his ears to carefully heed the fanged one's words through the thin wall at his back, and quickly wished he hadn't. The tumultuous and erratic nature of their short journey suddenly became all too justified. The time for clear and restrained thoughts and actions was long gone, now their modest force was left to flail hopelessly amidst the pool of hungry quicksand. With nothing but panic and hysteria to bide the cruel time.

A single, grim laugh escaped Wesley's lips as he smiled weakly, the sheer hopelessness of the situation, overcoming his sanity. He saw Fred look over to him, with the wary corner of his eye, disturbed by his sudden espression of mirth, but he forgot everything as his mind collapsed, and broke on the cold ground. Fear, hope, and bravery, abandoned him, and he looked upon his enemies and saw them as through a television screen. Suddenly he was the audience and this wreck of a man who sat, smiling darkly, drenched in the forceful downpour, was an actor, whose life was entirely fictional, and whose death was entertainment.

Fred frowned with sincere compassion as Wesley bent over and remained unmoving. Her heart felt cramped and scarred, bleeding for the pain that Wesley seemed to carry. Her mind feared to even consider what torture his soul had endured of late. What grave thoughts and emotions could have done this to a man she knew and respected for being so strong, so determined. 

She couldn't feel the warmth of the tears in her eyes as the wind froze her damp skin, but it was there. She had only to consider the pain that could have transformed Wesley so completely and so forcefully from the jovial and lovable character he once was and her heart froze. What had they done to him? Had guilt been its own punishment, loneliness and abandonment just excessive torture? She remembered when she had forgiven him once before. He had chased her, wielding an axe, and with all intent on using it, but she knew that it was not his own mind that drove him to it, and she told him this. It was Billy. She could still remember feeling sick when Wesley turned away, his eyes drowned with shame.

She issued a deep sigh, silent againt the roar of pouring rain, and shivered a she felt the water gush down her face, and fly from her hair, flailing in the mighty gust.

__

That means nothing now. 

We'll all be dead soon anyway.

The journey's almost over...

And some of us won't die as freinds.

She suddenly shook the dark thoughts from her mind, refusing to believe that anything was certain. With so many facets to their plight, nothing was strictly determined. There was hope, even if the others' faces disagreed. Even if there was no light in the sky, no beauty in the world. Despite the storm and the strong fires, she felt a hope. They were not alone.

Suddenly Asherea pulled herself to a sudden halt, her squinting eyes gazing straight down the wide empty road that lay before her. She was certain that they had come down here, both Angel and her enemies, even though she could not see them. Now that the fire was well and truly drowned in the torrents of rain, only darkness stretched before her, it's inhabbitants further obscured by the thick downpour. She shivered in her damp outfit, her white dress sticking to her skin and the lower part of her skirt tainted by dark stains of mud. She felt colder now that the world about her was dark and hidden in consuming shadow. The blackness was mirrored in her heart. 

She continued to look as the rain and the wind tore at her violently, as though it wanted her to be smitten to the ground. And suddenly, through pure chance, a sharp stroke of lightning shot across the sky and its radiant glare lit up the street, from her feet to the horizon. However, along with the light came not hope, but further fear, though now at least she knew what was out there, and had no doubts. She had seen the malevolence with perfect clarity during that heartbeat moment, in the form of tall man silhouetted before her, walking swiftly down the street, his deep black jacket swaying at his tail.

__

The Risen is here.

He was heading, with purpose and determination, towards the large crowd before him, his fists clenched, a evil smile upon his wet face. She stopped and breathed in deeply, despite the harsh cold, feeling an all too familiar rhythm pulsate through her veins and in her mind. Once again her life was coming to a glorious end, and by now she knew its tune. Her right hand shot suddenly to the hilt of her katana, holding it ready in its sheath, as her eyes watched the shadow walk into the night.

Her heart began to beat with increasing rapidity as her mind screamed to her. But she ignored its despairing and doubtful words as her own formed upon her lips, knowing that her bravery and her sacrifice meant something, everytime. 

"Risen!" She screamed into the thunderous shower of rain and gust of storm.

Gripping the leather covered hilt with further strength, a sign of her nervousness, despite the many times they had auditioned this part of the play. She shivered as his barely visable figure stopped with an inhuman abruptness. Breathing heavily, she knew this place, this game. This was her death. It was her destiny, to fight, to die. And every single time her defiled corpse was a broken picture of a fruitless death. But not this time. He swiveled around and stared straight into her with a vicious eagerness, his blue eyes unravelling her mind and piercing her soul, even if her sight was too poor even to see their colour. She felt him laugh and she glared into the shadows with fierce hatred. 

Suddenly her thoughts shot back to 1792, a tall imposing figure standing before her, looking down at her bloody body with sadistic contentment. It was Angelus. Of all the Harts she had met, he inspired her the most, and ever since he left her that day, nearly dead, strange sense of hope had lingered, hope that this time was different, that the prophecy was not pre-determined.

Yes, she thought, her lips an impossible smile, This time has to be different. She slowly drew her sword, and discarded the sheath, not hearing it splash and sink into the flooded gutter to the side of the road. The music inside her mind sped up, and she felt her muscles tingle with a new energy. Is this what hope does for you? 

Her quiet musings were suddenly interrupted when the Risen, with unprecedented speed, skidded to a halt about five metres away from her, and she gasped from the shock, still holding her sword pointing towards the ground a few metres to her side.

"It's red." He said quietly, barely audible in the storm.

Her eyes widened as her mind quickly fell into a short bout of self-disgust, and as the last streaks of human blood dripped from her lowered sword, she looked down at the red stains splashed over her white outfit. They were paled by the water but they were still there, a cruel and unfair reminder of the sacrifices that have to be made to triumph. This battle she was giving everything she had, and that man's death was an unfortunate side effect. She shook her head slightly, her long her spraying water as it whipped across her shoulders.

She couldn't afford to feel bad now. Lightning stabbed the sky once more and the Risen's expression was illuminated, his manic grin, inspiring a fiery passion inside of her, an anger. She brought her sword back to a ready position in front of her, and frowned with hatred when she saw the unnerving smile grow, with pleasure.

"No matter how many times I'm forced to experience this, Asherea, I never, NEVER, tire of it. To see that despairing face of yours gasp desperately one last breath, having only recently shone with bravery, is a joy beyond any other I have known."

He could see her trying to feign indifference, but her lips were trembling slightly, and her eyes avoided his. "I will break you as I always do. But I'm afraid prolonged physical pain is not an option for this shortlived encounter, for I have a group of people behind me who really need to be hurt."

"No." She said with as much blunt confidence as she could. "This time is "

" different?" He interrupted bitingly. "How can this possibly be different? You know as well as I do their deaths," he continued, pointing to the distant crowd, "are inevitable, just as yours is. A shiny new blade of metal is nothing, your confidence is nothing, this dimension is theirs, and there is nothing you can do to stop it." He sniggered briefly, "you can't even destroy me, try your luck against the omnipotent, omniscient guys up there!"

Asherea stepped forward, his potentially destructive rant having had little effect on her. In fact, it only added fuel to the flame that burned inside of her, for now she knew that he didn't know about the book. "Yes," she cogitated, "if they can understand the prophecy then maybe they can avert it."

The Risen's piercing smile was ever present, his confident and sadistic gaze ever effectual. 

"Should we begin, or should I just make my way over there and slaughter Angel's companions, except, of course " A sharp slice through the air cut him off, and he reacted just in time to lean back, below the silver shimmer of a skilfully striking blade. Both of their movements impossibly fast to the human eye, Asherea sliced the sword downwards, still within one graceful movement, towards his chest, and the Risen twisted his body to the side. The sword managed a subtle snick of his black shirt, but his spine had been curved away from the blow, and the sword struck the ground with the force of the uninterrupted slash.

The last clangs and crashes of strewn debris died out into the consuming rain as they reeled from the sudden, jarring crash. The rain hated them as they recovered their original positions, having been thrown to the floor of the truck bed. The back of the truck was flooded, and there was no way to escape the aggressive cold. The people in the back shuddered at the sharp sound of Angel's door being mightily thrust open into the brick wall that they had hit, his side of the cab being at a sharp angle with the wall. As they knelt in the pool of filthy water, the gang, bar Angel and Gunn, who both exited the cab in a type of fury, came to their own brick wall. Their minds looked up and on the bricks, the words 'Dead End' seemed imprinted, and the realisation struck them. 

Fred turned her head weakly to Angel who angrily grabbed his sword from inside the cabin, and walked around to the side of the truck, but his eyes didn't meet hers, they were focused, with immeasurable hatred, on the enemies that surrounded them, all across the street. They were slowly coming to a halt, standing imposingly around the small group, waiting patiently. 

"Shit!" She heard a cry of anguish and anger. Gunn, on the other side of the truck, which faced the road, was glaring down at the head of the cab, which was now a mess of bent steel and shattered plastic. 

"Guys, get up!" Angel shouted, contending with the fierce downpour. Connor had already jumped to his feet, and off the truck, his fists clenched hungrily, and readily. Shivering, Fred wondered poignantly why she was here, among these champions. They were all different, somehow, they were stronger than her. Gunn has been fighting demons and vampires his entire life; Angel had the strength of 3 men; Connor boasted the deed of weathering a hell dimension for his entire life; Cordelia had bravery, courage, and an unbreakable heart. 

What was she? A sweet Texan girl. She had been in Pylea, but there she had hid, and her soul had buried itself in a cave, wanting never to realise the truth, that she was alone. She sobbed quietly. Nothing she had seen could compare to this. Being cornered, trapped, ... this was the end.

Lightening cracked, and Angel helped Cordelia off the truck, whilst Gunn stood still, fixated unsettlingly on the alley behind Fred.

"C'mon guys! Get up!" Angel repeated, his request becoming an order, but in his commanding tone Fred sensed an undertone of fear. She crawled to the edge of the truck, almost wading through the pool at her knees, looking away from Lorne after glancing at his ruined visage. 

As he stepped solemnly off the truck, gazing around at the monsters surrounding them, their eternal gaze penetrating the nighttime shower, Lorne saw Gunn staring down the alleyway behind him, owning an expression of disbelief, fear and, anger. Fred and Dylan abandoned the truck and stood beside him and Angel, Connor standing about a metre off to himself, and Lorne followed Gunn's line of sight and peered down into the deep, black alley. A blow to his mind sent a shiver through his body as he saw a vague movement, then, as his vision gained its focus, a lurking mass. The shadows stood in the distance, their eyes sharp, their minds pervaded by a primal hunger. With a deep sigh, following the morbid surprise, they were surrounded. This proud company, who had so often slain demons in alleyways not dissimilar to the one they were now cornered into like rats, was trapped, defenseless, dead, and ruined./ kkk

"They're not moving!" Fred frantically stated the obvious. "Why?" she shouted, her tone growing ever more desperate. 

Connor let his eyes stray from those of his prey's, when he swivelled around to the group, an undetectable smile hidden behind his bruised appearance. He quickly studied the group, noting all of their panic-stricken, fear-laden, and emotionally scarred faces, feeling the slightest pity nibble at his heart as he tried to think what they might be feeling. They could see that this was their apparent end, as it was his, but he, although he saw as clearly as they did, refused to let himself fear it. He would take life as he had been taught to, one step at a time. Worry for the future aids not your battles in the present, and time spent grieving for coming death, is life wasted. "Frame by Frame" he told himself, as he unwound his loose bandages, throwing them into the devouring sea of rainwater below. 

__

This was just another battle, and if it was the last, it would be fought with every ounce of strength he could commit. If it was the last, he would prove himself to his father, and liberate his soul, which has been clouded by confusion and confliction for too long.

He felt their eyes on his back, but lent them indifference in return, his eyes devoted to Angel, who called Wesley off the truck, in an increasingly commanding tone. Connor frowned when he got a good look at the upset and unresponsive Wesley. His eyes were empty, as though he had left, fled. 

__

Weakness.

Connor was surprised to find this weakness in Wesley, one who he had recently come to respect, for being a man willing to risk everything to do what he thought was right.

Wesley grunted as a sudden burst of pain shook through his back, and his sides. He quickly realized that he had been violently thrust into the closed door of the truck, by an impatient and aggravated Angel, who had him by the shoulder. Wesley's eyes were suddenly part of him again, and he saw his friends standing in the distance. He was awake again. The pain was good, it had given him the chance to be reinspired, to revive his passion, his will to fight. He could see Fred's eyes, even in the unclear night, and he could see that he had a freind. 

"Wesley!" shouted Angel. "We need you! You can give up later, but right now we have to stay here! We have to fight."

Angel stared deeply, and piercingly through Wesley's eyes, seeing past his self-imposed coldness, and finding strength behind them.

__

Courage is knowing you're going to lose, and still fighting.

Wesley returned his eyes to Angel and saw his distant and dim expression in his companions' own. In his mind, guilt started to become unimportant; it was dying. He was on a cold, hard floor, and a hand was offered to him. He took it. That abrupt shock which had awoken him, and the profound warmth he could now see about him, in himself and in those who cared for him, renewed him, and now, despite the cold, which was both in the torrents of rain, and their dire situation, he was himelf. Feeling a fool for his short and unhelpful breakdown, though not letting the guilt begin to freeze him once more, he replied, in the most sincere tone he had used in a very long time.

"I'm sorry Angel," Wesley said augustly, his words meaning more than Angel could even comprehend, "I'm here, and I haven't given up."

Angel promptly released him with an apologetic, and grateful look, and looked back to the the rest of the group, the gang. He could see Wesley's restored presence's effect on the group, for they seemed taller, and more of a unit. That strength was beginning to come to him now, knowing that everyone else had the strength to fight against the odds, took some of the bitter edge off it. Yes, he wasn't alone. Wesley moved from the door and walked over to the rest of the group, and Angel swung it open, revealing the large front cabin of the truck, his side. Beside the seat was a long, silver blade, which seemed to reflect a non-existent light, and emit an intimidating sense of power. He grabbed the blade and held it tightly with both hands, admiring it for the umpteenth time. The traditional Irish blade was solid, and strong, the hilt a simple yet effective handle. 

When he turned back around, suddenly ready for battle, undetered by the weariness his body still suffered, his mind suddenly did a leap of distraction. Connor was there, standing away from the group, a primal and fierce look on is face, which Angel recognised as a passion for warfare. But even though his face was prepared to kill and to die, his eyes held something more sensitive, something which he would usually conceal but now wanted to express. He looked at Angel and recognised him as his father, with love.

Angel smiled at him, and Connor smiled in his own, almost unnoticable way, before turning his back to his father, and the tip of his weapon towards his enemies.

__

This can't be the end . . . not yet.

"Gunn?" Angel bellowed over the truck.

"Yeah?" 

"You ready to show these freaks just how many of their asses we'd be happy to kick?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Gunn replied, discarding all of his fears when he heard the enthusiasm, and confidence in Angel's tone. He grabbed the axe from inside the truck, and slammed the door with one hand, twirling once, then gripping his hefty and proud axe with the other. He looked over to the others, as Angel came around the truck to stand beside him, Wesley following. Fred seemed to be alright, a little disturbed, but he knew that she could manage this, at least until their fate was certain. Lorne was looking distant, dazed, and disconcerted, while Dylan and Cordelia both looked ready, Dylan with a little less conviction than she.

Angel shook his head sharply, flinging the water from his face and eyes, and once again catching Connor with the corner of his keen eyes. 

"Connor," he said, not applying the same volume he had to with the others. Connor turned, his body a wreck, but his mind determined and angry. He seemed surprised, but after quickly viewing Angel's expectant expression, he knew what he wanted.

Connor nodded, with the heart of a smile.

The army lowered their stance, their poised fists prepared and eager, and as heavy footsteps scattered the thick layer of puddles about the street, and the cry of a feared warrior echoed powerfully about the dark oppressive air, they smiled.

Asherea screamed angrily as her sword chipped the sunken concrete, the Risen's foot raised above it, having just avoided its swing. He attempted to trap it under the sole of his boot, but, rolling her body across the ground, having been kneeling before, Asherea curved the sword from under his falling foot, and, as she rolled to a kneeling position, swung it up towards his exposed groin. With inhuman speed and precise timing, he teasingly threw his body into a backflip, only just avoiding the blade, and flipping himself back to his feet, he only had to touch the filthy road with his hands. She stood up with an honest grunt of effort, her sides and back already severely bruised by a couple of blows, and glared at him with the utmost hatred, his smile never having faded, not once. 

She hesitated, wanting to drag out this pause in battle for as long as possible, attempting to catch her breath. He let out a short laugh and looked down upon her petty, tired stance, standing tall and fearless himself.

"Asherea, once again you make me laugh, for your inferiority, and also for wonder. Every time I snap your neck, or slice your throat, under the eternal night which lies above us yet again now, I wonder to myself, why? What is all this for? All your effort, your painful deaths, why can't you see it's for nothing? You have helped no one thus far, and let me promise you now, I will never let your sacrifice mean something, so what is the point?"

He finished poignantly with that question, his malevolently jovial expression forming into one of frustration, and even anger, as he waited expectantly. She didn't move, her lips never thought to part, her tongue never to express words, and her eyes ever fierce in their glare. They were still, as the rain fell about them, their hatred for each other was like ice, slowly freezing them both. Her breath returning to calm regulation and she happily observed him as he tried to force an answer out of her by simply asserting his presence, and threatening her with his deep blue eyes, but he was crackling with impatience; a miracle, given his usual indifference. 

He acted suddenly, but Asherea expected it in every fibre of her body. Springing forth, he swung his fist into her chin, sending her into the air, her body twisting above the ground, before landing in the pool of blackness. He smiled and looked down at her, as she struggled to regain her stance, pushing herself up, with all the strength left in her slender arms. But, as she raised her gaze, her sword, on which dashes of red were quickly fading clenched in her hand, and a glorified smile upon her sweet face, his own smile shattered. There was no hand attached to his right arm, which was now spurting thick red blood, and sending vicious spasms of pain down his arm. The shock had left him, and now he knew full well what had happened, and realised the pain to its full force. He grunted, and his eyes widened, with a distressed surprise. 

"It seems I'm not the only one who can feel pain, you pathetic toy!" She shouted bitterly, but with detectable glee. He was quivering from pain as he glared at her with pure detestation. She did not feel unsure anymore, for his eyes, still horrified, didn't enforce the same fear they had before. They would never mean the same thing to her again.

" Now if you kill me, I'll die happily, knowing that I made you bleed, made you feel pain. You may enjoy what you do time and time again, but your lack of conscience makes you insignificant! You're a puppet, a toy for those above, and because of this, _you_ mean nothing! But you'll never realise this . . . "

The Risen's fury and agony consumed every part of his wounded mind, and he became ever more clouded as she went on, spitefully. So when Asherea lashed out at him with her sword, which cut through the rain, sending whispers of the water trailing behind, he had no time or effort to react effectively. The sword skillfully carved through his shirt, and his stomach's skin, and she stopped the swing with the sword above her head, splatters of blood being thrown of its' blade. The Risen gave a short, savage cry of anguish and fell to his knees, his hand clutching his opened stomach, as his body shook disturbingly. The water at his knees was quickly becoming red, as he struggled intensely to breathe and literally to keep himself together.

She was smiling as she looked down at him, not contrite at the pleasure this sight gave her, after having spent most of her life bearing similar pain, and fighting to ignore his sadistic grin. "I know you can't truly die, you'll always be back in front of me, with more fire than before, but this time you can wait to perish, every second a lifetime spent in unceasing agony. Burn you bastard!" She shouted as he gasped desperately for air and for relief.

But he managed to control himself enough to slowly raise his head, his vision, and soon she found herself looking into his persevering smile once more. He wasted less than a second before, with a sudden blur, injecting his finger into his neck. Blood cascaded from the wound and he fell over backwards, dead.

"No!" She screamed angrily, and no time after she expressed her frustration a powerful fist made contact with her face, sending her flying down the street, rolling through the water for some amount of metres before coming to a silent lie. Her head was on fire, and she could feel her various bones were disfigured; her nose felt broken, blood pouring out from it and once again staining her grey dress. But, using her trained, and experienced will, she managed to sit herself up, watching through shaky and uncertain eyes, as the Risen, a dark black figure, with a long jacket, which swung at his anckles, strode confidently and impressively through the curtain of rain. 

When he stopped before her, looking down once more, his body in pristine condition, and his mind now sharply focused, she tried to employ her strongest, most fearless expression, although inside she wept. "You got lucky for a moment there Asherea, but as you said, I'm back. You defeated me because, as I said, it's a good sword, but it all amounted to nothing, as usual. Well, I must say you have suceeded in angering me quite severely, and I'm tempted to..."

"Shutup!" She interrupted harshly, doing the impossible as she spoke. "Whatever happens now, I will forever consider this a glorious truimph," she said, now on her feet, although slumped wearily," and _as I said, you_ can never really win in any outcome. Because nothing you do is for yourself, or by yourself. Without them, you have no power!"

Intense pain shook fiercely through her body once more, as, after carefully grabbing the hilt of her sword, the Risen sharply kicked her in the stomach. As she fell harshly on her back, struggling to breath after the force with which his heavy boots had hit her belly, the Risen walked towards her again, the sword now held readily, it's point diagonally reaching out to the ground below. She had been blown off her feet once again, and she, once again, against all odds, began to push herself up to a kneeling position. Her vision was no longer straight, or clear at all, and her mind barely had time to think, still quivering with the affliction she had suffered. He approached slowly and hauntingly, making sure that his steady footsteps would each resonate harshly in her memory. He was savouring the moment, all of what she had said to him being thrown aside as useless information. He didn't want to live among other mortals, their petty emotions being but clouds, distancing them from achievements. His life had purpose, whether it was only to serve or not, he was still free from their aimlessness, and their simple mind. All that mattered was what was actually achieved, none of this morality humans, and other sentient mortals, seemed to abide was of any concern. Wrapped up in their emotions they become shortsighted.

He stopped in front of her, clutching the bloody sword eagerly. Lightning struck the deep black sky, lighting it up gloriously, so that everything could be seen, the edges of the thick clouds, the distant battling mass, and every fine detail on the Risen's handsome, yet hateful face. His features were ablaze with powerful satisfaction, and twisted pleasure. She looked into him, and perceived his thoughts.

__

Pathetic . . . He deludes himself, to hide the fact that he is inferior to her, to the people she fought for. He existed, but they did more. They didn't just walk, talk, and breathe. No, they had the ability to love, and _the ability to hate. She had meaning in everything she did. _

Her vision went near to black with a disturbing suddeness, and the heavy, aching pain she suffered before was replaced by the sharpest, most unbearable agony one could feel. It was happening again. She fell backwards, and looked up to the clouds, as she felt the warmth and life gush out of her. Her contorted face was greeted with the best vista, the single best sight she had ever seen: through the most subtle gap in the clouds above shone a bright star. This time things were different, just as that star could never be seen before, now hope existed. The bubble of darkness that had enclosed every dimension she had ever seen had a hole in it, and oustide was freedom. The book, and the bravery of the Hart would change things this time around.

She was physicaly dying, and every second that passed bought her infinitely closer to her final, blood stained breath. But there was a part of her that was standing to its feet, tall, proud, and unharmed. Her soul sighed with content, and suddenly the star was no more.

The Risen profanely removed the sword from her chest, and, not looking away from her defeated corpse, snapped it's blade with his bare hands. _Yes, victory is mine again you petty child. It'll never change._

He began to turn around, quickly shifting his attention back to Angel and his companions, more specifically Connor and Cordelia, when a strange feeling made his mind shiver with resentment. He walked back up to Asherea's bloodied corpse, which was buried in a sea of red, and bent down slightly, so that he could see her face clearly, hoping to put to rest a strange sense of unfulfillment gnawing at him. His mechanical heart froze, and his mind turned itself over with shock and anger. She was smiling! 

__

How can this be possible, through her physical pain, and the knowledge that she was to fail, how could she ever smile? Perhaps I didn't break her as I thought I had done, as I always have done.

It was unheard of, seemingly impossible, and the slightest possibility that she considered herself the victor, the superior being, threw his usually calm complexion, and unfeigning conviction onto its knees, and into disarray. 

"Damn!" he exclaimed, feeling even worse that he let this small facet overcome him so profoundly. He swept the top of her long blade from the sea about him, back into his hand, and leant over her, raising it above his head. His hands were cut by the efficient sword, as he embedded it in her face. Standing back to his feet, feeling not at all comforted by her now defiled corpse, he looked at his wounded hands and felt his confidence, and his definite, unchallenged complexion failing. Throughout the rest of his almost eternal life, he would slowly regain this, but he would never be the same again. He would never be complete, for she had wounded him, and it was a wound that could never heal. Her humanity had prevailed.

Pain punished Angel's failing body with more and more strength and frequency as Angel desperately struggled amongst the large brawling crowd, which expanded both into the alley and out onto the street, the truck being firmly in the centre, rammed into the mouth of the alley. He was ducking and falling about with decreasing coherency as he essayed to avoid the precise and stealthy blows that were being dealt from all around him. The intensity of this battle was quickly overcoming him, and the pain and weakness that had already been inflicted upon his body, made it hard for him to fight with the power that he usually had. They were landing more and more hits, to his stomach, his back, his face, everywhere, but, wiping the blood from his face, and stubbornly ignoring the agony that pleaded him to give up, he constantly returned to his feet. But, being so outnumbered, even his valiance meant little, ruthlessly empty expressions he still received, and fear he did not impose.

He caught a fist that struck at his face, in the palm of his hand, and crushed it, hearing the bones crack, feeling them crack, and threw it way, sending his enemy over onto his back, destined to be trampled into the rain by the brawling hordes. As his mind began to slow down with his body, it began to wonder, and he unexpectedly considered his friends, who he had scarcely seen in the heat of battle. He blocked another blow with his arm, and returned a sharp kick to his opponent, throwing him back into his kin. Angel ignored any sense of urgency that called to him then, slowly turning around to search for his friends, the ones who he had sentenced to death. Guilt rushed over him as he saw Cordelia suffering a cruel and undeserved attack, she was saved from another blow by Gunn, who seemed to have absorbed the ferocity of his opponents, or maybe adopted it, as he fended them off viciously. 

"He has a lot of power to him," Angel suddenly thought, "and this time, when it truly matters, _I_ am powerless."

He felt the pain again, this time after being hit, with inhuman force, in the chest. With an inpolite suddeness his grave musings were no more; he was brought back to the harshness of reality, and had to fight just for his breath as his stature was finally broken, and he crumbled to his knees, like an ancient statue finally surrendering to the perservering attack of time. The fire in his heart died and now his mind was clouded by the thick smoke, his passion, his will, left behind. He could do little to defend himself, and hadn't even registered the next attack before he was smashed in the back of the neck and thrown down into the dark, cold water, face-first. 

They were waiting patiently, he deduced, not from his blurred vision, but from something else; he felt them sneering hatefully as they savoured the moment. He knew what it was like to be there, looking down on his victim, _savouring _the power that he felt from killing. He suddenly saw harshly clear images of such scenes, from behind a sadistic smile he saw once again the murder of Alfred, whose body was defiled by his own cross, and cut into a large window. He remembered vividly the feeling that gave him, and realised that he was now that old man, beaten, broken, a victim to a wicked predator. He was the prey to be toyed with, for the first time in his life, or his unlife.

Although it didn't really matter to him at that point, his dried-up walnut of a heart having being long since drowned in the sea of despair, he tried to focus his eyes. Around him were the dark shadows of his predators, but above them, above the darkness, as the sky is above the sea, he saw something that made him discard his grim, darkened thoughts, and stare in awe. For some strange reason, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A single star, shining brightly through the shroud of darkness that had long since enveloped the others, seemed to look down on him. It was as though he were in a storm, at the mercy of the seas, an unsure captain on an unsure ship, and this star was a beam of light from a lighthouse, revealing the way back to shore. That single star was proof that hope was out there, no matter how long the tunnel was, or how deep you're buried in darkness, there was always light. 

He was suddenly awake again; he felt weary, but empowered all the same. He felt the rain, and he saw his enemies. One of them leant down, smiling, and brought his fist down towards Angel's face. Angel caught the sharp blow in his palm, just centimeters from his nose, where it had been intended, and, keeping the angry fist in his grip, smote his enemy's lower leg with sudden and unexpected power.

Falling to his stomach beside Angel the identical had clearly been taken by rude surprise, and his face was contorted in an expression of bewilderment and confusion. Without hesitation Angel's hand sliced through the heavy air, and crushed the identical's neck with preternatural power. His agony, expressed in painful choking and spluttering was ignored as Angel rose to his feet, fending off another few attacks. He was hunched over, the stance of a weak man, but there was something else about him that kept most of the other identicals around him waiting silently, with an understated feeling of awe, and an unwanted feeling of fear. His eyes spoke unbreakable hatred, but even worse, confidence.

The truth was, Angel had long since forgotten the idea of defeating this army, it would have been stupid to continue this thought. After having measured their strength and calculated their numbers, there would be few who could not see that it didn't add up, there was no way they could triumph. He was only free from grief and fear because he knew that he was fighting for something again.

Angel jumped with shock when suddenly the identicals around him began to be knocked back, and, spraying a short burst of blood into the air, felled. He spun around looking all around him as his foes rapidly dropped to the ground. Then suddenly he heard it, and saw it. Just above the fierce roar of the rain was the piercing battle cry of a gun, and he stopped looking around him, when just above the crowd, atop the ruined truck, he saw Wesley with a large assault rifle in his hands and to his shoulder. Small golden shells rang like bells as they scattered across the ground, and Angel could feel the bullets whiz past him now, bowling down his unwitting opponents with unnatural efficiency.

Angel smiled knowingly, a he watched a streak of blood soar into the air, and the saw the bodies of his foes littering the ground.

__

Yes, there was hope, and together, he and his team would find it, and fight for it. These enemies they faced now were many, and individually they were strong, but Angel, Wesley, Cordy, Gunn, everyone had a clear and profound advantage; they were human, or in Angel's case, ensouled, and therefore capable of love, and capable of caring for each other. The team they had developed over the years was tightly bound by love and friendship, so much so that no amount of power could break them apart, at least that was how it seemed. They were better than the identicals, in only one way, in the only way that matters.

'We can't win," Angel whispered to himself, keeping a watchful and wrathful eye on the identicals renewed advance. Wesley's fire had retreated, and Angel saw that the identicals were swarming towards him, ruthlessly attempting to take out the foremost threat first. They were diving up onto the truck, swiping at him as they were blown apart by a barrage of unforgiving bullets, attacking from all angles. He would soon be overcome; Angel knew this. Meanwhile the identicals surrounding him were no more cautious or patient, and threatened to charge into him from all directions, and at any moment. He readied himself, unsure as to whether or not he could survive this next onslaught, but sure as hell that he would fight them as long as an ounce of strength remained. 

Once again, friendship, companionship revealed itself, revealed what it could do if it was assaulted. It was powerful, and it was angry. Connor screamed fiercely as he broke the enclosing circle of identicals surrounding Angel, sending one into the air, and several more to the hard, wet ground. His fists were clenched, and his eyes spoke both hatred and compassion at the same time. He was looking at Angel, and approached him with a barrel roll, avoiding several kicks skillfully. On his feet again, Connor's back stopped at Angel's side. 

"Thanks," Angel said, banishing an enemy with a sharp punch to the face, "these bastards are relentless. I wasn't sure how much more I could take."

They both took the innitiative to swing round into a back to back position, and were now rapidly fending off empowered blows, and delivering their attackers to the ground. 

"It's no problem." Connor said amiably, with a subtle undertone of sincerity. He wanted Angel to _know_.

While they fought furiously, there seemed to be a strange silence, that could have been awkward but was instead touching. The silence was between them, and was one of acknowledgement and realisation; they both _knew._ They were a team, just as they were when they slew the vampires in that club. Finally, after being divided by a vengeful old man, they were together again, in mind and body, and now Angel felt that they could never be torn apart again, not he and his son.

"It's the least I could do after after being so "

"Stubborn?"

Connor nodded softly, whilst defending his chest from a particularly strong blow.

"Forget it," Angel said, with an earnest bluntness that told Connor, with perfect clarity, that it truly was a thing of the past. Slightly surprised, and eternally relieved, Connor wondered why his recent actions did not warrant more punishment. Surely being sentenced to insurmountable, and eternal pain, deep under the serene waves of the sea's surface, hidden from anyone who might rescue him, would be a severe and unforgivable cruelty. Maybe this is what a true father was meant to give, forgiveness and understanding, two things that Connor had searched for all of his life. 

He thought he had found these things, and everything else people deserve, but that had all been a lie, his whole life had been a lie. Nothing Holtz ever did for him meant anything, because none of it was actually _for_ him. Holtz was all about himself, and that had rubbed off on Connor, which lead to him being easily used. Anger is a whole lot easier to breed when everyone cares about themselves, and this is because self-involved people can only ever see one half of the picture. That is why Connor felt as though he had been reborn, and every simple human gesture seemed completely new.

"Right now," Angel continued, grunting as he swiftly engaged his opponent with a barrage of punches, "we have to focus on getting the hell out of this hell. I can't lose anyone here, Connor, I can't, or I swear I'll lose myself." 

Connor paused momentarily, contemplating Angel's words. There was something about them, about the reason he chose those particular words; it was forboding, and they seemed somehow ominous. 

__

I'll lose myself.

"I've had enough of this fighting," Angel exclaimed, his voice stronger, louder, and strangely, Connor felt that his words were no longer directed at him.

"Just an hour ago I was happy. Everything had come together, everyone had returned, DAMMIT!" Angel shouted, his voice filled with formidable rage, rage that had been surpressed for too long. But it wasn't so empowered as it was tired, and frustrated. No, it felt like this was his last effort. He was spent.

Heads turned to his outburst, his friends, and his opponents stood almost completely still as the rain bombarded them, trying to compete with Angel for attention. 

"I don't care about prophecies, and apocalypses! I don't care about you," he cried, pointing into the crowd, and every identical felt that he had pointed at them, "not how powerful you are, not what you want, nothing!"

The constant scream of bullets had died away now, and the fighting had calmed to a standstill. Even the fierce storm about and above the two armies seemed to look to Angel in anticipation. 

"Right now all I care about is the people I came here with, the people you essay to kill. Now you can throw everything you have at me, all the storms and all the armies in the world, it wouldn't matter. But, here, today, if any of these people are taken away from me, I will personally watch each of you die by my own hand, and if you are ever going to believe anything in your entire pathetic lives, then believe that is no threat, that is a promise!"

Angel quickly used the pause in battle trailing his speech to assess his friends' positions. Gunn was standing in front of Fred, Dylan, Lorne, and Cordelia, his axe held firmly and with mistrust for the silence. The blade of the axe was covered with almost as much blood as Gunn, despite both of them being continuously cleansed by the rain. From the way the group stood it was apparent that Gunn had been doing the majority of the fighting, understandably, as he was the only one with a weapon, and these guys were as dangerous to approach without protection as a speeding train.

Separate from them was Wesley, who threw his heavy weapon to the ground, and picked up another of the same type from the back of the truck, where he stood. And, of course, there was Connor, who still had his back to him, but was watching Angel with everything but his eyes. He felt strangely reaffirmed, after seeing Connor. They were strong together, the gang, and Angel hoped that they would be strong enough to be together after this, all of them. He knew that they had to make their escape right now, but still hesitated, knowing that he might soon know whether or not they would all survive.

"You ready, Connor?" He asked quietly, noting that his enemy's faces had forgotten the blank, indifferent expression from when he was talking, and became eager, and ready once more. This was it, Angel's last effort, this time he either failed or succeeded.

"Gunn, get to the red truck across the street and start it up!" He yelled, with all that he had. This announcement got both parties moving, and Connor and Angel once again fought vigorously, this time cunningly making their way towards the truck. They disconnected, and ducked and dodged their way through the swarming crowd as swiftly and carefully as possible. They were working together with an innate coordination, taking out each others opponents as the other ducked, and attacking through and over each other. It was making them stronger; Angel saw that in their victims' eyes, and their attackers' hesitation.

Wesley immediately jumped into action, and cleared the identicals surrounding the truck, aiding his landing with a shower of well-placed bullets. He landed in a crouch, without taking his finger off the trigger. After spinning the gun around sharply, distributing bullets in an almost complete circle, he aimed it in front of him and charged forward, enemies falling down before him, and shells splashing into the shallow ocean behind. The force of the gun was tearing into his arm, but it was paying off, because now he could see a tear in the mass of identicals, they were moving aside, and he could see the otherside of the road like a light in the fog. He saw the red vehicle Angel had mentioned and ran for everything he was worth, thinking himself lucky, as he broke through the crowd, which then followed him like an inescapable wave, that he had not been tripped.

He arrived at the truck, and spun around, allowing him to launch himself from the ground and land in the truck facing his enemies. He continued shooting as his back hit the hard metal, hitting his opponents down in mid-air as they dived for him. He groaned as he sat up, and crawled towards the back wall of the cabin. His spine sent a relentless, throbbing pain up his back to his neck, and the noise from the gun was deafening. He was now struggling to stay focused, as his head felt like it was being gripped tightly by an invisible being. He had to suffer whatever hell could concieve if he wanted to keep his companions from being slaughtered, and he wanted too, just as much as Angel, or anyone else in the gang.

Just after he landed the window to the cabin was smashed by a quick jab with the butt of Gunn's sword, and the remaining glass was soon knocked to the ground to land among the rest of the shards. Wesley heard very little though, for his ears rang unforgivingly with sound of gunfire. 

Gunn unlocked the car and swung the door open, handing his axe to Dylan, who looked even further out of place with an axe, as home-made as it was, that looked as though it was stronger than him. As he cracked open the the part of the dashboard that sat beneath the ignition, Gunn knocked forcefully on the thin metal behind him, having seen Wesley leaning against it just before he jumped in. He did all this with such speed and efficiency that Wesley was notified to his friend's presence before any of the others gathered around the front had even considered shouting out to him. Gunn knew that he had no time to waste, and hence became a well-oiled machine, doing this with utmost proficiency was the only option.

As soon as he heard the metallic thud, Wesley leaned around the cabin and saw the others standing outside the open door. He could not see all of them, but they were sticking together, and moving ever closer to the car door, as the horde quickly approached. He had to give Gunn the time. He stood to his feet once more, even though it made him feel slightly dizzy, and caused him terrible pain, and resumed his fire so that it covered himself and the others. It was not as effective, and now the enemies were only being slowed slightly by the fire, for both parties. The identicals would be at his throat in less than a minute.

Gunn's hands were slippery from blood, and sweat. He could feel the pressure now, as he sorted the wires. He found the correct ones and wrapped a dirty cloth he had found under the seat around his hands, it might at least decrease the risk of being fried. Dylan was standing next to the door trying to look threatening, and the others were staying close, and trusting in Wesley's support. 

The half circle of enemies was now about a metre from the distraught team, and were advancing slowly but surely, simply stepping over the corpses of those that had been in front of them just before. There was layer after layer of identicals, and Wesley was holding on by a straw, both in terms of his ammunition, and his physical state. Just as he was about to give up, he was distracted from his overwhelming pain when Angel and Connor charged through the crowd, knocking several to their feet as they continued running towards the truck, which revved proudly as they reached it. Wesley resumed firing, carefully shooting around Angel and Connor. He vaguely heard Angel mutter something to Gunn, before the others quickly jumped into the back of the truck, from the other side, the clear side. Connor sat next to him, and the rest of the gang leant solemnly against the cold, wet walls of the rear compartment, shielding their ears from the unfreindly sound of the gun, as they kept their faith in Wesley. There was nothing else they could do, except make haste. Shells of ammunition sprinkled the metalic floor around them, some hitting their soaked clothes before falling to their watery graves.

The last few minutes had been so intense, their struggle to escape the fray so swift and dangerous, that none of the group was truly awake. Either they were overcome with fear, pain, or the inability to face the extremes of the situation. Things were a blur, and through the dark, cloudy skies, and the emotional strain of battle all anyone could see were fragments of the whole picture. The sudden flashes of the gun, the rain pounding into the river that was once a road, the face of an angry, yet infinitely confident identicals, all pieces of a puzzle.

Unfortunately it wasn't until too late that Lorne, as perceptive as to the presence and emotions of a person as he is, found the key jigsaw piece. He was vaguely looking over the battle, filled with some kind of deep sadness and despair that he couldn't quite understand, knowing that something was wrong, aside from the obvious situation. His mind was frantic, and lost somewhere, as though it knew it had to be somewhere but didn't know where, when it stumbled into something, something of grave importance. It seemed to him that he found the jigsaw puzzle visually, through his eyes, with which he saw Cordelia being rushed back into the crowd, a firm hand covering her mouth, and desperation apparent on her face, but he _knew_ it first. For a short while his throat just wouldn't let the words come out, the shock, and the horror of seing Cordelia being swept off her feet and pulled back into the consuming crowd was too much. _This can't happen, we were supposed to make it._

"Cordelia!" He suddenly screamed. He felt the realisation instantly grabbing the others, with such a force, he felt that some would just die then and there, the look of remorse, guilt, and shock, their last expression. She was gone from sight now, blanketed by the thick mass of identicals, but they didn't need to see, they _knew._ It seemed to him that they had known she wasn't there for the last 30 seconds, but without it having properly registered. Wesley immediately swung his aim to the point in the crowd he suspected Cordelia to be, trying to be careful with the weapon he was holding. He figured, though, that she was better off taking a bullet than being eaten alive by this giant body of power. With a poignant click, the gun shut down, gave up, and he looked down, his face devoid of any sign of hope. He threw the useless gun into the crowd and stood helplessly. It suddenly occurred to him that they were the _helpless. _

Where is our Angel? We need saving.

He could not act, as his mind edged him to leap from the truck, and follow her to the ends of the Earth, but it also told him that that would be a stupid thing to do. 

She's lost, but if I'm lost too, won't we both be found?

After all, how can two people be lost together?

Torn, he stood on the edge of the truck indescisively. He would never know what his descision would have been, but it would have defined him for himself, but, as others acted for him, and the choice fell from his grasp, he would be forever lost, until the day comes again (If it does) and he would have to make the choice. 

As the truck sped into the night, Wesley, having been pulled back, sat looking at the road behind them. It was flooded slightly the whole way, and the speeding tires sent water flying across the street. The rain never stopped, and Wesley was cold, colder than the others. His eyes were almost closed in empty concentration, something he could not properly explain. He was seeing into the past, as the buildings to his sides, and the stripes beneath, on the black road, dissapeared into nothingness, he could still see Cordelia being dragged away. They were speeding away, escaping that moment, but a part of Wesley seemed to remain there.

At the same time, Angel, in the passengers seat, beside a solemnly silent Gunn, was looking ahead with a fiery passion, less saddened by the loss of Cordelia as he was enraged. This was partly because he knew that she wasn't dead, something he was not sure the others knew, but primarily because he saw himself now, as the road spun ever onwards, the dark buildings watching as they fought their way down the path of needles, enforcing his promise. The ray of hope which he had seen in the depths of battle, which had revived him, was getting smaller in his mind, becoming harder to see. But he saw himself tearing it open. 

If it was the last thing he did, he would fight the darkness, and kill every last one of those inhuman identicals. He was morbidly eager to see their blood streaked across the wall, and layered across his own hands. He no longer cared about being noble, and wise, revenge would be his. He didn't understand the prophecy, and he didn't want to. Whatever was going on around him seemed irrelevant, all he could see was himself and his family, and the people who were trying to pull that image apart. He knew that he had to throw everything he had at them to get Cordelia back, because he knew that it was entirely his fault that she had been taken.

The horrible image of the Risen, standing just outside the crowd, his hand grasping Cordelia's neck threateningly, the rain seemingly avoiding him, and the aura of power he owned, his smile devoid of conscience, would remain with Angel for a very long time. It was impossible to ignore his evilness, it was the purest thing Angel had ever seen, but somehow Angel was not at all afraid, because in some indeterminable way he gave the impression of being wounded.

None of them could possibley comprehend that the darkness of the past was merely the tip of an inescapable iceburg that threatened to sink them and everything they stood for.

Btw, Buffy and Willow arrive in the very next chapter, for all those who've been asking me about that. Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry about the size, excluding the final chapter there won't be any more of this size.


	19. Eye of the Storm

Eye of the Storm

Here is the next part of the story. Obviously it has been a long while since I have last updated, too long, and for that, I am sorry. However, for those of you who have stuck with the story, I am ahead now, and I promise you that I will never take as long as this to update again. The next part to this chapter has been written and will be posted in about a week.

Thank you, and sorry.

Eye of the Storm

Part 1.

The Hyperion door drifted wide open, as though pushed dejectedly by a defeated wind, and a tired company walked through, into the spacious lobby. Angel entered the room first, an air of darkness trailing behind him, his expression focused on a single thought. He noticed that, of the slaughter just an hour or so earlier, not even a drop of blood stained the warm sandstone-coloured walls, but was impartial to it, no surprise, nothing. He could still see Cordelia in the hands of that man, his expression one of cruel delight, hers, in the purest form of contrast, one of despair, and pain. The image would never lose its vicious clarity, despite it having been seen through a mirror, littered with distorting trails of fallen rain. He stood to the side, leaning against the pillar, at the foot of the long staircase, waiting patiently for the others to make their way in.

He had plenty to think about, and soon he would have plenty to do.

Angel had every intention of wiping the grin off that bastard's face, and shattering the picture and the thought that plagued his every waking second, possibly beyond. He could not predict the darkness, the terror, of bitter, twisted dreams that may come to him during the night, but he feared experiencing them. Because, alone, cold in the icy palm of night, the rain pounding at his window, he would hate, and envision deeds even his evil counterpart would not conceive. Revenge is a destructive thing.

It didn't really matter if it was night or day, they were both just as dark now. Even inside he could feel the clouds watching, waiting. They gave him the feeling that there was more to come, something bigger and more certain than anything he'd ever faced in his life.

Where was that star he had seen, that sudden presence of hope he had felt, even in his agony and weakness, the indeterminable feeling that the clouds, the darkness had been punctured, wounded?

It didn't really matter now, as evil had attacked his family, and he would snap its neck, just as he would snap Holtz's neck had he the chance.

The rest of the gang, plus Dylan, and minus Cordy, filed in, and spread themselves out across the various couches, and chairs in the lobby, avoiding the scattered rubble that had showered the rich green floor during the Earthquake, few of them even bothering to ask themselves why all of the bodies were gone. It didn't matter, though at least now they could get a good night's sleep, without having to dispose of a layer of corpses. Angel didn't look at any of them as they entered, didn't try to see their expressions, to see how they felt, because, somehow, he already knew. He knew they had all seen it; Lorne had shouted it out, but, there was an almost tangible air of gloom, and all of them were on the same frequency at that moment and even now, Angel being the only exception. None of the others knew that she was still alive, and none of the others envisioned their own hands painted thickly with the striking, red blood of the identicals, and their eyes, seen in those of their foes, burning with life, and intense satisfaction.

They were all soaked through to their skin, and cold, even in the warm glow of the hotel. It seemed as if they weren't really there, as if they weren't really home. The wind outside was bitter and harsh, and the rain viciously attacked the windows, creating a constant roar. In the corner of Angel's eye, every trail left in the wake of diving tears upon the glass, was a scar, left in mockery of his failure.

"Damn!" Gunn exclaimed, in anger, ripping off his jacket and tossing it to the side of the couch, which he then feel onto. His jacket hit the ground with a sharp, wet smack, and he leaned back into the soft fabric of the couch, letting his tired body fall into slumber, his mind remaining torturously awake.

Dylan lingered at the open doors, keeping himself politely distanced, and disconnected from the group, which, aside from Wesley, who seemed to be forcing himself not to take any of the rest and comfort that was on offer, out of guilt, occupied the various couches on the expansive lobby's floor. He was cold, and wet, shivering slightly as the wind continued to penetrate the entrance to the Hyperion. He wiped the water from his face with the sleeve of his white shirt, the cuffs of which were split, but it turned out to be a pointless endeavor as the fabric was just as wet as his face. The water was at least temporarily out of his eyes, although soon torrents more would rush down his forehead from his deeply drenched black hair. He took a step towards the doorway, his contemplative gaze fixed on the grey, scarred city through the rain, which had not lost any of its fierceness. In fact, strangely, it occurred to him that it was angry now.

Yes, this place was different now; LA was darker. It had always been a dark place, to him at least, but it was a hidden, restrained darkness, kept to the shadows by bright lights, whereas now the light, like the one behind him, in the lobby, was hiding from the darkness. He sighed solemnly, shaking his head. He knew that something was going on, something crucial, an apocalypse, as he'd heard it unprofoundly uttered.

Angel's announcement of Cordy's condition, and the hearty expressions of relief from the room behind him, barely reached his senses. He looked down at the stone floor at his feet. He was outside the door, and although he could take a few steps and be in the light, in the warmth, he would still be outside, alone. He had no place in these epic events, in these battles, and in this war, nor did he have a place among the rest of the blissfully unaware population. __

"Not Dead! You're sure of this?" Fred asked cautiously, guarding her hopes from shattering blows. Connor, sitting on the opposite side of the couch to Gunn, glanced over to her, a glint of knowledge in his eyes. 'He saw it too,' Angel thought to himself, 'I wonder if he even cares.' Angel remembered the warmth in Connor's eyes whilst they were fighting together, just minutes ago, and the time before he'd been banished to the bottom of the sea, and all though that cordiality remained in him, when he spoke to others his expression was uncaring, and cold. Connor seemed to have trouble being empathetic to humans. He was to hardened by his years in Quotorth, and by his own emotional experiences, and it made Angel uneasy whenever he saw his son take a fact, but not perceive it through _human_ eyes. Right now Connor cared that Cordelia had been taken, but he did not care for the fear, anguish and angst of the rest of the gang. He had the mind of a warrior, just like Angelus, focused on the moment, and on the tangible outcome of events. That is what made Angel truly separate from Angelus, the ability to understand and connect with humanity.

"I'm positive, Fred." He replied definitively.

"I saw it too, the Risen had her by the throat." Connor announced, making it clear that he thought the others should have more trust for Angel, and then quickly feeling contrite and foolish. He realised that he wouldn't have the right to make such judgments for quite a while, for none of others had been as stubborn and spiteful as he. Angel had invested faith in him once more, but he would have to win back the rest of the gang, except Wesley. He couldn't yet put his finger on why, but he believed that Wesley would forgive him instantly if he asked for it, as though he were trying to make up for some untold debt.

"The Risen?" Wesley looked up from the debri-blanketed floor, and straight at Connor with an intense curiosity. Connor quickly dropped his previous thoughts, seeing that Wesley had taken this whole affair more personally than anyone else. His mind reached back to the buried memory of his conversation with the reason. The event was fragmented in his head, as though he had never wanted to retrieve it, and he soon realised that he did not want anyone to know about it.

_Brother_

That they were born to the same parent was explicitly implied, but Connor still fought to understand what it really meant. They couldn't be brothers! Connor quickly convinced himself that those comments made to him back in Wolfram and Hart meant nothing, or at least forgot that they were of importance.

_They can't know_

The last thing he wanted, or needed, was the mistrust that would arise if he told them.

"That's what he called himself," Connor replied, effectively concealing his nervousness, "when I fought him in Wolfram and Hart.

"Before we got there?" Wesley pursued, his words direct and forceful, as though he didn't have time to be polite and calm, so he instead resorted to interrogation.

"Of course." Connor replied, frustratedly.

"And what else did he say?" Wesley continues, disregarding Connor's subtle defensiveness.

"Not much. He just found me in one of the hallways, killed Gavin and Lynwood, threatened to kill me, told me that he would end the world, adding that this could not be prevented, and started to beat me. Then you came.

"The usual threat, self indulgence, and run. I mean we get lines like "Édestroyer of cities", and "you will all perish", every second Tuesday, and we're allÉwell, half of us, are still here, in a cityÉ which, when you consider it, is moderately ruined. Sorry, that wouldn't have been a bad example yesterday. All I'm trying to say, kiddos, is that we've averted plenty of these before, and killed plenty of those before, and the word inevitable is but a fading memory, to me at least." Lorne supplied, leaving the room in a collective frown.

He grinned slightly then, as a memory briefly came to him. When he had first been introduced to Fred, they had been talking about much the same thing as was being deliberated currently.

_nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say 'your evitable!_

He was momentarily filled with an unexplainable sense of joy, realizing that, even in these dark times, the memories he and the gang shared was part of what made their little candle continue to burn, even in the harshest of winds.

Before he managed to restart, Gunn said earnestly, sitting forward, "I think I actually took home a point from that. Maybe we shouldn't worry too much about this yetÉ and especially if Cordelia's

"You know," Angel suddenly interrupted, "I think I'll just leave you guys to debate as to whether or not we should worry, and go grab some sleep. Then tomorrow I'm going to grab my sword, and kill things." His tone was blunt, and ill-mannered.

"ButÉ" Began Fred, as Angel began to ascend the wide, neatly curved staircase, stopping herself when she saw that he wasn't going to stop, and turn to face her with a earnestly interested expression. 'I guess he does deserve some sleep, in fact we all do.' She thought soothingly. 'But how can we let ourselves relax when we know that Cordelia is out there, and that she most certainly isn't relaxed?' It felt wrong to her to even consider lying down in a comforting bed at a time like this. Maybe Angel knew what he was doing, as he usually did, but if he was wrong the price might just be too hard to pay. She glanced over to the open doors, which swung slightly open, and then back to the wall unrythmically and indelicately. The wind outside could almost be seen, it was so unnatural. The whole storm around them was unnatural, and its existence made her consider the possibility, however frightening it was, that Lorne's view on the situation was incorrect. This was not like anything they'd seen before. Dylan stood to one side of the doorway, at the foot of the stairs, which Angel had disappeared up. Whoever he was, and despite the fact that he came from Wolfram and Hart, she had seen enough of him to know that he had a good character. Unlike Lilah, he had a soul. She watched as he stood, unmoving, contemplating the ruined city before him. He seemed further away than he actually was, as though, if she walked up to him, he would still be a mile away from her.

"Connor," continued Wesley, taking little notice of Angel's unenthusiastic exit, "you know that whatever is going on outside is extremely important, then you must know that it is of the utmost importance that we can comprehend it, understand it. Please, was there anything else of importance that he might of said to you?

"He talked less with words and more with his fists." Connor answered, trying not to let Wesley pick up on anything that might allow him to consider Connor a liar. "Alright," Wesley sighed, "I almost thought we might have had something to go on. Damn!" A fitting silence followed his words, a silence in which time seemed to, in an unexpected and unusual gesture of benevolence, decelerate to allow them time to think, and gather their wandering thoughts.

Connor looked away from a defeated Wesley, and focused his eyes on the marble floor, which was scattered with drops and puddles of water, and small chunks of material, which had obviously fallen from the roof. The building had clearly suffered by the hands of the Earthquake, earlier, as the debri was of a large quantity, and the walls were victim to jagged, creeping cracks, that climbed towards the ceiling, desperately trying to ruin what beauty remained of the room. He looked over to the wall beside him, and fixed his tired eyes on a particularly thick crack, which scaled the wall malevolently. Sliding his hand through his dark, unkempt hair, in order to prevent sly and stealthy rivulets of liquid from devouring his face, he shivered as he kept his sight firmly on the broken surface. The depth of the crack caused it to appear dark, and it's apparent hatred of what had been built, by the hands of others, was suddenly, to him, a disturbing sight. Maybe everything was meant to be destroyed, and maybe for everything of beauty, there was a hatred of it, a hatred that would scar that beauty forever- tarnish it.

Wesley might not care much about Angel, but to Connor, right now, it mattered more than anything else could. What was he feeling? Despair? Weariness? Every time he considered Angel, his heart was grasped tightly, and his mind picturing a resounding image of his father, whom he had only just got to know, lying on the floor, beaten bruised, and alone. Connor tried to gain control over his searing angst, hating the way it threatened to force water from his eyes, and weakness onto his face.

"So, Angel's retreated to out-of-office brood modeÉ" Lorne began, trying to make the situation sound as pleasant as possible, by, as he typically did, adorning it with a playful spirit.

"He's always been a sucker for home-brood" Gunn interrupted, leaning forward from the damp patch he'd inflicted upon the back wall of the couch. Fred beheld him, and, despite knowing his beneficent intentions, couldn't help but let a displeased expression sneak onto her face. She watched a lone drop of water from the tip of her long hair, hanging loose to the side of her neck, fall to the ground, and feed the growing pool at her feet. It seemed to her that it was an empty shell hitting the ground, not discarded and defeated, but content with the fact that it had done it's damage. She blinked as she was assaulted far too suddenly by a clear image of the battle from which she had just fled, hastily opening her eyes to a room of stark contrast to the banished memory. Whatever she had seen was of little relevance, for just recalling the intensity of that fight was enough to leave a sting in the back of her mind.

"He's earned it, don't forget that. Not only has he taken a hell of a lot of damage recently, but a certain person in this room shoved him to the bottom of the ocean!

At this Connor abruptly rose to his feet, a fierce and piercing expression slung towards Fred. Connor, trying desperately not loose his composure, with a mixture of anger and sadness, exited the room, silently, and profoundly. He was hanging on to sanity by a thinning thread, his joy in connecting with his father, and being able to discard his old life. He almost stopped as the room faded out of site. He had done it; whatever the consequences, he had lied. He was free from having to worry about it now, his mind soothing him with the belief that the Risen had only been trying to stretch his brain. Yes, it was but a cunning battle tactic. Some part of him knew that this was not the case, but he didn't want to recognise that voice.

"Fred, don't scare the kid away, I have a vague idea that Angel doesn't want him running off right now.

"Don't get me wrong, Charles, I am of the profuse opinion that we are no better than him. We left Cordelia, and, even though we thought she was dead, you, Lorne, and I abandoned her. And now, why she is apparently alive and unwell, we sit about moping, apprehensive toward every possible action.

"Hey don't go comparing me to Connor. I have way better hair.

"It's the minimalist approach. I like it." Lorne quipped, with a skin deep joviality.

"Fred's right," said Wesley drawing glances from everyone in the room, bar Dylan, "we have to act now. We don't know what's going on, but we all know for certain that something is going on, and it's not going on quietly. Not to mention, we're completely open to attack. Don't forget we were in here like this when they attacked before, and the fact that we are currently more vulnerable than ever before certainly won't discourage them.

"If we're going to do anything drastic, shouldn't we at least _involve_ Angel?" Asked Lorne.

"Given his present atrabilious mood, and enervated condition I doubt his ability to make a clear decision. For now he is defeated, physically and mentally, so, no, I believe we should act now, regardless of Angel

"And who made you in charge?" Gunn inquired forcefully.

"At least he's sharing his mistrust of Angel this time." Fred added, harshly, looking over to him from the centre of the room where she now stood.

Wesley, who stood behind the reception desk, frowned grimly, and could not help but retreat his sight from Fred, temporarily stunned by the comment. "Now is not the time to be 'in charge', or, for that matter, distance ourselves. We have to act as efficiently as possible, and therefore, as a unit, a group. I'm sure no one in this room is perfectly happy with our short history together, but, for now, can we try to refrain from falling prey to our emotions, at least until this is over?" He looked back up from the surface of the desk and took in the room's reaction to his words. They all seemed to understand the guilessness behind his plea; it was not doubtful, they had to function together, and support each other, or the darkness would consume their solitary souls. Wesley had offered his hand to Gunn not long ago, and Gunn fully intended to return the gesture of friendship. Lorne was still trying to grasp the group dynamic, which had been entirely altered since Connor, and although he found it hard to see Wesley in the same light again, he knew what had to be done, and the only way in which to do it. It was against his nature to hate, and he was all for keeping the group strong, even if it was feigned.

Lastly, Wesley's eyes connected with Fred's, and they gazed at each other for an intense moment, until Fred finally saw past her anger, which was like a great wall between them, and realised his sincere, and clear intentions. She nodded, with a slight hint of respect.

"Only problem is, the end might be closer than you'd think." Lorne remarked, expressing his doubt.

"Take a look out there, this is beyond what we've faced before. The end is already here, it's at the door right now, but the only thing that that means to me, is it's easier to hit. We have to be ready to cut it down when it comes through the gate. Let's stand to our feet, forget fear and doubt, and actually do something to ensure that this is the end of death and destruction, not the end of us." Wesley's passion to fight whatever was here seeped into his words, flickers from his enraged flame, catching alight the dampened kindling in the hearts of the others in the room.

"Riding that ebb of inspiration, I'm going to lock the door, and, for the sake of irony, watch Apocalypse Now, and possibly listen to the Doors.

"What did you have in mind?" Wesley asked, encouraging the increasing level of energy coming from the denizens of the lobby. He could almost see them waking up, emerging from a dark chamber, in which they had lived for an eternity, their eyes sore in the light. It's amazing what you can achieve when your mind isn't hagridden, or plagued by a single, clinging, vicious thought, as Wesley's had been only yesterday. He felt relieved that this apocalypse had erupted, being something tangible that he could focus on.

"Well, I was thinking "The End", purely for relevance." Lorne replied, frankly.

"Expand on the "door locking" part.

"Oh, right. Sanctuary Spell.

"You mean like the one you had going at Caritas?" Fred inquired.

"Bingo! Fred: 1, the unexplainable: 0.

"You sure you can do that?" Wesley investigated.

"I'm relying on some old acquaintances, but right now I'd say, as sure as the sky is black. Something tells me that previous 'sure' would be a 'certain', were Angel to tag along, but I'll settle with 'sure', and Fred." Lorne stated eagerly, and comfortably.

"Looks like I'm going, although to be honest the last thing I want to do is face the wind and the rain again." Fred returned, making her willingness to come expressed more strongly than her reluctance. She really didn't want to go, but forced herself to forsake grief, and actually achieve a sense of purpose. She had to bear the cruel darkness, because Cordy was still out there, and Fred promised herself that she would not rest until, her friend was safe behind the Hyperion doors. "Although, if you don't mind, I'm going to pop upstairs and rub myself against a towel before we leave.

"No problem. Give us and hour and we'll have baked ourselves a pleasant sanctum," Lorne said, turning to Wesley, "any demon tries something in here after then, he'll be picking himself up off the floor, bemused and confused.

"Excellent. So we can't be hurt by demons, right?

"Right.

"Well," Gunn interjected, groaning as he raised himself to his feet, "before I get too carried away I'd better take our lawyer-friend home.

Dylan immediately swiveled around, turning his back to the dark void beyond the walls of the hotel, strangely thankful for the distraction. Although he faced Gunn and Wesley now, who were bathed in an ambient orange glow, pictured cruelly in his mind was still the dark world outside, lingering, haunting him. Facing that charcoal sketch of death and destruction, he had eventually began to feel as though he were falling into it. Yes, his feet had been on the ground the whole time, but _he_, his soul, was being enveloped by the clouds, and drawn into the storm.

Wesley looked over to him, grimly. "It's inadvisable," he said, candidly.

Dylan acknowledged the comment with a grateful smile, and replied, "Oddly enough, the more inadvisable it gets, the more I want to be under my own roof.

"You can stay here." Gunn pressed the suggestion.

"No, thanks, but I'll take your other offer. I'll probably just pack up my shameless collection of valued materials and get out of here." Dylan told them, the last sentence as much a suggestion to himself as it was a statement to them. He tried, but quickly realised that, for one reason or another he could not picture himself leaving.


End file.
